Infernal Incarnations I: The foursome
by Nick Bodom
Summary: The final stretch of the attack will either plunge RuneMidgard into an eternal darkness, or bring about the revival of calmness. The latter is farfetched unless everyone could put aside their differences.
1. Character index & Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Ragnarok, however I own these characters.**

Characters

I have changed the names of certain characters, hope that did not hinder your reading pleasure. Those with amended name are marked with an asterisk. I will also put their original name so you will understand who the original person was as you read was. Those in square brackets are pronunciations. Due to a hiatus between chapter 53 and 54, I decided to make some changes and so the amended names are only effective as of chapter 55 onwards. Changing the names all over the story will probably make me age faster than light. Sorry for any inconvenience and confusion caused.

**Cerberus Twinedge CER-BER-RUS TWEEN-EDGE**

Leader of the Avenger, wields two swords, fireblend and ice falchion. Birthplace in Izlude, however he was treated as an outcast. His brother, Cranius Twinedge, serves as high military overseer. Cranius detests Cerberus for handling his own guild instead of being part of the Izlude riders and participate in the defense of the city. The unequaled knight finds no solace in Izlude for the people dislikes him due to Cranius's spreading of rumors about him

despicing the Izlude Riders. Willingly leads his guild to greater heights. He seeks comfort in his guild. The fact that Cerberus's father bequeathed him the two swords infuriated Cranius further, making him to sever ties with the knight.

**Sagis (Sagizelus) SAY-JEES**

A wizard unusually powerful for his young age, he finds himself clamped in between Avenger and Overlords. Recalls nothing of his parents. Enrolled to Geffen Sorcery Instituition by a man who took him in. As long as he has not decide on where his loyalties lie, this dilemma will continue to gnaw at him, and his conscience. People considered a renegade wizard for his uncanny level of sorcery at such young age of 20, shunning him at his sight. Usually talks to settle things when caught in a predicament. Only fights back when driven to a corner. Wears black robes.

**Yeven Dekon (Piffy) YE-VEN DEE-KEHN**

Although an alchemist, this long time friend of Cerberus indulges in smithing and forging business. Known to brew potions for multiple purposes and forge flawless weapons that can rival one of a veteran blacksmith. His origins traces back to Alberta, but moved to reside in the capital city of Prontera because of the guild. Bans anyone from entering his kitchen, or rather workshop that proves to be more hazardous than the Dark Lord's lair in Glast Heim.

**Koju a.k.a Skull (Immuonnas) KO-JU**

The assassin is mostly known to everyone outside of Morroc as Skull. Borned in Morroc but moved to Prontera with his sister. Unless in the desert city, where the people call him by his Morrocish name, nobody will address him as Koju. Stubborn by nature, refuses to listen, headstrong. Fights skillfully, but impulsively. Lost his sister, a priestess, when he was a child. He vows to murder Galor, the person responsible of his sister's death. Carries the Infiltrator katars as his weapon. Close companion of Reka since they share the same hometown.

**Pay Skysight**

Comes from the town of archers, Payon, where it is believed to have chinese origin. Feels somewhat nostalgic about the old Payon, before it was re-constructed due to damages caused by frequent attacks by demons from the cave. The assault had now died down, leaving Payon peaceful once again. The hunter shares a house with his mother in Payon. At certain points of time he feels homesick. Attacks with an Arbalest specially forged by Yeven to him, as well as his 'mad' falcon, he always calls it. Trained his own falcon rather than renting one for 2500z. The cheerful and confident hunter is also a childhood friend of Mariane.

**Mariane Holycross (Manald) MAR-RIAN HOLY-CROSS**

The young priestess is protective of the Avenger especially. Believes strongly in God and fights for holy causes. Served in the Prontera church when she was a very young acolyte. Although fun-loving, she looks out for other members and ensures their safety with curative spells. She feels that it is her job to protect anyone from the harm of demons and other malevolent beings. Other acolyte on their way to priesthood looks up to her, and many enjoys her company. Has quite a handful of admirers. Usually has to rely onReka for help to get rid of the persistent group of them.

**Reka a.k.a Zerin (Maraulea) REE-KA ZER-RINE**

The female rogue is another member from the deserts of Morroc. Adopted a hobby of looting and cutting her victim's zeny pouch strings since young. Though she's the main reason behind Avenger's high income, her fellow mates deem those as 'illegal zeny'. She's the only person in the guild who calls Skull by his Morrocan name. Again, only the people of Morroc address her as Maraulea, though the other Avenger members occasionally call her so. Carefree, frivolous and adventurous, she likes hiding during battles to amuse herself since her opponents always flustered after that. Keeps with her a zeny knife all the time, for this dagger is the only way to bring her 'legal zeny', despite the fact that she uses that knife to cut purse strings. Close friend of Mariane.

**Tien Rockfist TIAN ROCK-FIST**

Descendent of his family of monks. He is the leader of the Overlords, in cahoots with Sagizeulus after he persuades the wizard to join him. Impulsive and irascible by nature, he duels with his Kaiser Knuckles. Despises Avenger, and hopes to destroy them in time to come. His fists comes before he thinks. For some reason, his eyes glows an unholy green when entering into a rage during battles. The Payon-born monk findsPay somewhat familiar...

**Elemire Nightfletch (Trueye) AL-MAYIR NIGHT-FLETCH**

A huntress in the Overlords. Incredibly accurate with her aims and firepower. Snipes with the rare Ballista crossbow. Her revealing huntress attire and slim figure has a tendency to leave in a wake of lusty glares fixed and glued tight onto her.

**Agis & Wart Raenore EY-JEES WART**

The two knight brothers under the Overlords. Agis and Wart were frequently picked on by their leader despite their endeavors to improve their work efficiency, proving their worth. This caused a spark between the brothers and Tien. Under certain circumstances they almost wanted to defy the monk and leave the guild.

**Galor "Lady's Men" Oreheind GAIR-LOR OREE-HIND**

A malicious crusader fighting for the Overlords. Also notorious for causing Inneavil's death, sister of Immuonnas. Given the title "Lady's men" since

he was always spotted behaving intimately with a group of tavern girls almost every night. Likes to prey and cheat on wealthy and innocent girls. Because of that, the heavy alcoholic was always confronted in taverns and bars, getting into brawls.

**Opium Goldsteel OPEE-UM GOLD-STEEL**

An experienced forge-smith with vast knowledge on forgery. His products are almost, if not better than Piffy's. Both alchemist and blacksmith competed over the superiority of their forges everyday on the Prontera Business square, where all merchants and blacksmiths opened their stalls.

**Von Vulj VON VALCH**

A white robed wizard in the Overlords, sometimes looked upon as a saboteur who harasses Avenger through stealth attacks and magical traps.

**King Tristan III TRIS-TAN**

The emperor of Prontera, helming the capital city of Rune-Midgard.

**Larzen Blaedmight LAR-ZEN BLADE-MIGHT**

One of the two Prontera Warlords. Carries a large, two-handed Zweihandler sword.

**Smith "the hobbit" Hammertop SMITH HAMMER-TOP **

One of the two Prontera Warlords. Carries a hammer and an axe into battles.

_**- 1 -**_

"Hurry, be done with it quickly."

The assassin gave a quick nod. Snatching the flask of acidic potion from his accomplice's gloved hands, he disappeared away into the darkness. The man started to repeat the instructions, but then he suddenly realized that the spot where the assassin had stood a split second ago became air. Good luck, you dolt, he thought with a sneer. Turning to leave, he collided into something. Or rather, someone.

"Where do you think you're going?" croaked the mysterious figure.

The assassin, known by his guild as Skull, leaped and ducked without the slightest noise into the Creamhilt base. Despite the impenetrable darkness, his keen sense of his surroundings and his marvelous agility guided him safely into the base. He moved as swift as the breeze and landed so silently that a thief bug would not have heard it. He slipped past the snoozing guards and literally glided into the armory room like a wandering ghost. A satisfactory grin formed on his masked face, amused by the thought that his guild's antagonist is going to find their battle gears utterly deformed and damaged beyond repair by the corrosive concoction. Uncorking the plastic flask eagerly with a "pop" that echoed loudly throughout the base, he started to dump the contents onto the weapons but he stopped abruptly, fearing that the echo might arouse the guards.

"Damn Piffy, can't you loosen up the cork? Some alchemist you are... Damn, this is gonna get messy," he muttered. Just as he had expected, torches were lit and light flashed, the still of the night overwhelmed by the growing commotion. Heavy footfalls approached his direction, nearing him every second. Reacting instinctively, he made use of his assassin abilities and clocked himself into the wall. He held his breath and stood very still, watching silently as a group of five guards charged into the room but did not find a single soul around.

"Who's there?" a tall guard boomed threateningly. When there was no response, the same guard repeated the question, this time in a louder volume, hoping to draw the intruder out. Again no reply was made. The irate guard then ordered the rest to search the large room piled with battle gears ranging from large two handed swords to muddy war boots, while he exited the room to inspect other areas. After a futile search, the four guards muttered complains that sounded something like "woke up for nothing", as far as Skull could hear.

All was quiet and still again, when the guards were assertive that they were hearing things. The scheming assassin materialized out of the wall, this time uncorking the flask of greenish acid cautiously and quietly as possible. The metal sizzled and hissed with the powerful corrosion, the metal started bubbling furiously. He had a queer feeling that as if the room was imprisoned with a few dozen pythons. Skull started to feel nauseous and giddy due to the strong acidic odor that tainted the air in the room. He gagged, dropping the bottle onto the floor with a loud clank and fumbled his vest pocket for a butterfly wing. He knew the clanking of the bottle would arouse the guards once again; therefore he quickly pulled the wing out and crushed it in his palm, sprinkling the powder over himself as he suddenly became diaphanous before disappearing into thin air.

"You don't look familiar to me, now reveal your identity, as well as your motive," the tall figure Piffy bumped into asked. Piffy, the alchemist, dismissed his question with a wave of his hand. The man grabbed him by the collar and intimidated him. Even in the dark night, he managed to see his ugly snarl.

Thinking quickly, he said, "Of course I don't look familiar, dear sir. I...I'm just a newly employed cleaner! What motive could a poor cleaner harbor, sir?"

The man raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Oh... Indeed? I've never come across any cleaners carrying potions that certainly don't look like detergent, kid. You can fool anybody else, but me. Now – "the man stopped when he heard a commotion within the Creamhilt base. Light flashed and guards awoke with a start, rushing into the castle base. Sensing trouble, he released Piffy and left for the castle base, not before saying "count yourself lucky, kid."

Skull emerged into the Prontera square, where the statue of Odin rested on a fountain. His dizziness escalated as he was not used to teleporting around to get to his destination. Steadying himself, he scanned the area when an excited squeal caught his attention. Spinning around, he saw Manald, the priestess of his guild grinning mischievously at him. Beside her was the happy-go-lucky hunter, Pay, named after his hometown, Payon.

"That was long, if you must know. Because of that, I became her toy," Pay complained as he raised his forearm, which was full of pinch and bite marks. "This girl's insane when she loses patience. Damn."

"How'd it go?" the zealous priestess asked.

"Where's Piffy?" Skull evaded the question he deemed meaningless. "He's supposed to return earlier than I do."

"Not around, you can see for yourself," Pay answered.

"You haven't answered my question, Skull," Manald pursued.

The assassin removed the mask off his face and tucked it away. "I can't be standing here before you if I failed, am I not right?"

The constant splashing of water at the fountain reverberated through the capital city of Rune-Midgard. It was the only sound heard in the still night other than Skull's heavy breathing. The sky was a deep blue shade, an indication that dawn was arriving. The three sat at the square, Skull relating the little adventure he had just a moment ago, slightly irritated at Manald's unnecessary admiration and her endless questions. Pay merely sniggered at her silliness. They then proceeded to discuss about the upcoming guild war, at the same time joking about the humiliation State Overlord will receive when they find their gears now nothing but useless waste metal.

But Skull was not in the mood for jokes. He sensed Piffy's jeopardy. The alchemist was probably discovered and now imprisoned by the guards for intruding their premises. Otherwise, he would have been back by now. There was nowhere he would have gone in the middle of the night. I overestimated him, and trusted him too much, he thought bitterly.

Dawn broke and the sky was now shades of orange and violet, but Piffy had yet to return. The city started to liven up, contrary to the scene in the night as the first rays of the sun bathed the busy city. Ambitious novices started their training routines just outside the city gates, slicing Porings and stabbing Fabres with their standard novice knives. Enterprising merchants quickly set up their stalls early in the morning, hoping their effectiveness could outdo and outsell their just as tough competitors. Some even offered discounts or undersell other merchants on purpose to increase their sales figures.

"Hey two of you," Skull called out to his two companions. "I should really get going. Piffy might be in danger. Cerberus should come sooner or later, just don't wander off."

Piffy ran as fast as his legs would take him even though he was long out of Creamhilt, more importantly, freed from the man's threats. He had wandered aimlessly in the night, slightly traumatized by fact that he almost got himself captured. If they were vicious, he might even be killed. He got himself lost in the wilderness through the night and he was not able to figure out his bearings until dawn broke. The quick-witted alchemist breathed a sigh of relieve when he caught sight of a few swordsmen training novices in the vicinity. He approached them and asked for the way to Prontera.

One of the swordsmen chuckled and replied, "Lost? Just follow this trail here. You should see Prontera. Shall I accompany you, in case you lose your way again?"

The other swordsman and novices laughed uproariously at their friend's indirect mockery. Growling in disdain, he followed the trail as instructed and sure enough, he saw the tall, brown towers of the city in the distance. The fatigue alchemist trudged towards the city with his head down, complaining about not getting enough sleep for the night. In the midst of his contemplations, he knocked into someone for the second time. Raising his head, he saw a familiar face. Skull's face.

"Hi mate, gonna get some sleep," Piffy said as he yawned. He started to proceed to the gates when he was barred by his guild mate.

Skull face grew red in exasperation. "Where do you think you're going? I was worrying all night, for Odin's sake. You're supposed to return to Prontera straight after giving me the potion!"

"You sound just like that lad, you know. Alright, enough nonsense. Gotta go catch my winks for the fight. Make way," Piffy pushed Skull's hand away.

"What lad?" Skull pulled Piffy back and scowled.

"I was caught. I'ma pray to Odin, that lad ran off to deal with some business in the house and let me off. Now lemme go, you're nagging like my granny, have you any idea?"

Straightening his clothes, he entered the gates and could not be bothered to answer the Kafra's greeting.


	2. Third time of the day!

_**2**_

Tien leaned against the pillar in the empirium room, rubbing his index finger against his chin thoughtfully, a flask gripped tightly in his hands. So tight that his knuckles turned white. He refrained from fuming and kept his boiling anger in check. He did not want to lose his temper in the presence of a black robed wizard, who was sipping a cup of tea, sighing away in appreciation.

"I assume this'd be the work of your men?" Tien finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Why ask while you already answered this question yourself?" the wizard replied before taking a quick sip at his tea. Noting the monk's expression, a mixture of exasperation and rage, not to mention desperation, he almost spit his tea out in amusement.

Tien threw the empty flask onto the marble floor, shattering it into millions of glass shards.

"I thought just as much. The flask, that sneaky alchemist, are enough to tell me tales." He paused for another moment before continuing.

"Say, Sagizelus, which soldier goes to the battlefield with corroded sword, shield and armor? I'm no different from being naked! What do you say, huh?"

"I'd say," the wizard said, resting the cup on a stand. "Join me in a cup of tea."

"What?" The monk was ridiculed beyond measure.

Sagizelus, known to people as Sagi for short, gave a prolonged sigh. Not in appreciation for the tea, but rather at Tien's frantic behavior, which was totally redundant.

"Panic not, monk. You don't need those. Anyway, it's not a bad thing that your battle accoutrements are destroyed."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tien said, trying not to look provoked, lest he offended the wizard. Instead, he looked questioningly at him.

Sniggering to himself, Sagi said, "Look at it this way. You'll stand to gain, not only now, but at future confrontations. Since the foolish King is closing the guild wars after this round, just go ahead and unleash mayhem. The worst Prontera will ever see since hundreds of years."

"You think you can do away with the suspense?"

"Now, time is ticking away by the moment. Come." He ushered Tien towards him, whispering into his ears. Tien went into a shocked state for a moment, and then choked on his saliva. He continued starring wide-eyed at the wizard for a longer moment, his eye balls almost on the verge of dropping out of the sockets.

"You're not serious... That's obviously not legal! How are we going to control it?"

"There's no official rule against this, so I assume it's against your conscience? Or is it you, being the coward, willingly accept defeat at their hands?"

"Nobody's gonna do it," Tien shook his head as he spoke.

"Do you have any choice now? Would you rather wear your waste metals and shame yourselves? I'm merely supplying you what you're deprived of. These weapons are far more effective, I assure you," Sagi said matter-of-factly. "Remember, you approached me, not the other way round. It's entirely up to you."

The monk swelled with fury seeing the wizard's smirk. Blood rushed to his face, veins could be seen throbbing at his temples. He felt like introducing his fists to the wizard's mouth, but he dismissed the fleeting idea. At this crucial moment, it is definitely unwise to do so. Firstly, his guild's fate is now in his hands. It is solely up to him to take them to greater heights or plunge them straight to the abyss. Secondly, he was definitely no match for the superior wizard who had a great variety of harmful spells in his repertoire. Thinking over the wizard's words, he decided that he must set his priorities right. His guild will come first.

"Come," Sagi said with a sneer. "Join me for tea."

Not refusing the wizard's second offer, he took the cup of tea from Sagi's pale hands and downed the contents in a couple of huge, loud gulps.

Piffy maneuvered himself over the crowded streets, the merchants' persuasion to purchase their goods added to his ire. First, Skull's questioning. Now, merchants' endless promotions to him. How long more it is going to take before I am freed from such irritation, he thought. Shoving away an insistent merchant tugging away at his sleeve, he ran for the eastern part of Prontera, where he resided. He ran down to the end of the street, praying that he outran the persistent merchant. Turning his head back, he saw no signs of him. At least for the moment. Wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead, he continued walking with his head turned back at short intervals, ensuring that he was free from the wild goose chase.

He was hoping to catch a short nap before the guild wars, never expecting a merchant to be in hot pursuit. He made a mental note of the area where most merchants carry out their business, then decided to enter Prontera by a less busy route in the future. Immersed in his thoughts, the alchemist failed to notice a knight just in front of him and his face smashed right into the tough metal plate, slightly breaking his nose. His sight blurred for a while, blood trickling down his nostrils. He scrutinized the knight's face, suddenly a hint of recognition formed in his chubby face albeit he was seeing double.

"That's the third time of the day, Cerberus. Have you... any... idea?"

"Huh?"

The leader of Avenger, by the name of Cerberus, stopped in his reply when he realized the alchemist was on the verge of collapsing. Piffy then passed out and the knight's muscular arms caught him up quickly and firmly. Hauling the small-sized alchemist over his shoulders with one arm without the least effort, he headed for Piffy's house, chuckling to himself along the way, partly because of his foolish friend, and partly at the notion that victory over their antagonist, State Overlord, was inevitable.

A horn blared loudly, catching everybody's attention, as well as giving a handful a brief shock. Some complained openly about the horn being piercing to the ears. The people stopped their activities and saw a formally dressed announcer gathering them closer around him.

"Good afternoon. Yes, each and every one of you may be anticipating the monthly guild wars, am I right? Sad to say, this month's guild wars will officially be the very last and final round before it is closed permanently. The event will commence in an hour's time. All guilds participating in the event should get ready by now. That's all for now. Best of luck, people," the announcer announced with much pleasure and enthusiasm.

Skull came just in time to hear the announcement. The vile assassin glanced around the busy crowd, scanning the area for Pay and Manald, but no avail. Sighing in frustration, he dodged and bent in the humid crowd without anyone noticing him, emerging out of it and found a person looming over him, obliterating the sunlight. That person was about half a head taller than he was, heavily armed to the teeth. Elevating his head reluctantly, more so because he could not care more about facing a pest barring his way through, he looked menacingly into the slits of the crusader's helmet, his flaming eyes glaring at him, challenging him. Recognizing the crusader as his arch-rival many years his senior, who was recruited to be a member of State Overlord not long ago, he glared with more ferocity than he could ever muster.

Recalling the times when he was barely eleven, the same crusader had cheated his sister out of money, feelings and ultimately, life. The crusader's name was Galor. This name etched deep into his mind, never able to forget it for the rest of his life. Galor was a deceitful man, not to mention cold-blooded. Cheating his sister's feelings time and time again without remorse, he dated every other girl he could find. He patronized the pub frequently, gradually getting involved with innumerable trouble and tavern brawls. Skull's sister actually lost her life defending him in one of those fights. When she passed away, he merely said, "That's none of my business, she willingly died for me." At that time, the enraged Skull threw a fist into Galor's face, who managed to intercept the blow and gave a hard toe kick into Skull's gut, sending him flying a few meters back.

Skull's hatred bubbled to the brim, on the verge of spilling out without control. The more Skull was reminded of his sister's death, the more he wanted this man's head at his katars. Until now, he would not forget the vicious kick he received.

Words need not be spoken. Skull withdrew his bloody katar out of nowhere in such a swift manner that it seemed to materialize onto his hands.

"No! Not here!"

Manald appeared out of the crowd together with Pay, screaming for the assassin to back off. She hoped to catch Skull by surprise so the hunter could tug him away from the man.

"Settle this later, but not here. This is not appropriate, damn it. Don't start it now," Pay said in a firm tone.

Despite his guild mates' pleas, he did not avert his acid stare. Shaking his head in disdain, Galor sneered behind the custom made helm of his and stalked off.

"You're too impulsive, you'll gain nothing out of it except making a fool out of yourself, heard me? Don't let him have the upper hand," Manald advised.

"That was uncalled for," Pay added.

"We gotta be heading to Piffy's for a final round of meeting."

Pleading the obstinate assassin to follow, the duo pulled Skull away and led the way to Piffy's home. It was tough persuading him, let alone pulling him away as he stood with fists clenched tightly, not budging one bit.

"Sorry, a little disturbance out there," Manald apologized as the three of them barged into the alchemist's house, the hunter gasping for air as they sprinted the whole journey. Instead of seeing maps and plans laid across tables and discussions taking place, they saw Cerberus, their leader, tending to Piffy who was lying on his bed with strips of red cloth sticking out of his nostrils. Both hunter and priestess laughed aloud.

"Is that blood?" Manald asked.

"Think you might be filling us in?" Pay inquired, trying hard to control his mirth.

"Got a broken nose there, no big deal," Cerberus explained.

"No big deal! Why don't you try it?" Piffy hollered, more blood flowing out.

"He keeps saying this is the third time of the day, what's this all about?"

Pay shrugged his shoulders. Manald crossed over to Piffy, offering to heal him of his ailment.

Skull merely snorted, much to Cerberus's confusion.

The house was small, barely able to house eight people. It contained a tiny living room, a kitchen and a bedroom with a toilet. Piffy's bedroom had tall shelves of books standing against the four walls, making the cramp bedroom look smaller than ever. His collection of books included those on the subject of alchemy, forging, catalysts for concocting a potion and more. Dust and mould blanketed the books, making visitors to the room sneeze uncontrollably.

The kitchen was used as an experimenting room rather than culinary purposes. Piffy strictly barred anyone who tried to enter the kitchen, for that person would inexorably discover himself being washed with foul-smelling chemical solutions, or half buried in an avalanche of test tubes and flasks. Cerberus had once entered the kitchen without warning, accidentally knocking over a bottle cramped with baby argiopes, ending up doing a wild dance in a desperate attempt to shake off those prickly worms off him. From that accident onwards, Piffy had since kept a closer eye on the knight, even though he dared not venture into the kitchen for the rest of his life.

Cerberus stood up, his head almost touching the ceiling. He looked over to the door, to find the assassin leaning against the wall with arms crossed over his chest, ostracizing himself from the rest. The knight did not bother to question him of his predicament, for Skull's expression was a revelation of what might had happened. He went over and gave Skull a pat on the shoulders.

"Where are Sagi and Nimmber?" Cerberus asked for the wizard and rogue's whereabouts.

Skull shrugged his shoulders and gave him a "don't bother me" look.

"Speak of the devil," Pay said, overhearing Cerberus's question.

The wooden door creaked open, the black robed wizard, Sagi, entered first, Nimmber tagging behind. The female rogue flashed an impish grin, causing Piffy to think that it was directed at him. But he discarded that assumption as he realized that she was referring to her "zeny hunt" outputs, holding up four bulging pouches.

"Where'd you go, Sagi? Everyone's waiting," Pay asked.

"Helping out a band of novice nearby. They got ambushed by a Phreeoni. I just made a clean work of it," the wizard said, telling them his already prepared explanation, or rather, lie.

"Oh. Since when were you so helpful towards novices?" the hunter replied rather dubiously.

"We'll go for celebration once we win the competition, all right?" she squealed excitedly, swinging the stolen pouches around her fingers, an indication that she will bear the costs with her recent "earnings".

Most of them readily agreed, except for Skull and Piffy, who kept silent. Cerberus gathered his guild around the table, at the same time laying out the plans he had drawn out.

"Come on, we have to hurry within these half hour," Cerberus urged. "Skull, come over here."

"I can hear you," the restless assassin croaked.

"That, of course, but how are you going too see these plans from there?"

"I don't need plans, Cerberus. I see no necessity for such discussion. Let me tell you this, my only plan, my only job, is to rid of Galor's existence," he whispered dangerously, yet audibly. Finishing his piece, he walked out of the house, slamming the wooden door hard, wooden flakes drifting onto the floor.

"Hey! You're gonna pay for the damages!" Piffy screamed.

Nimmber sat staring with mouth hanging open, muttering something that sounded like "wow".

"Is he having mood swings, or what?" the auburn-haired rogue said.

"You heard the man, he met Galor just now," Sagi answered without interest

Manald started after the assassin, asking him to return. But Cerberus held her back, giving her a reassuring nod.

After the conclusion of the quick and final discussions, the guild prepared themselves, changing into their battle attire. Cerberus, the knight, looked at each and every one of his members, smiling to himself. They must emerge victorious and make the State Overlord bow in defeat, for this was the last guild war for the year as King Tristan the Third announced the closure of the guild wars, because people were getting injured or killed unnecessarily due to it.

Cerberus felt safe with his friends fighting side by side with him. He had Sagizelus with his Staff of Soul, wielding devastating magic that would knock one out instantaneously. He had Skull, the devious and scheming assassin, sneaking his way around and ambushing his adversaries, forcing them to forfeit with his katars pointing up their neck. He had Nimmber, the mischievous rogue hiding beneath the grounds, disrupting opponents. He had Manald the recently promoted priestess, backing them up with her elixirs and curative spells at her lips. He had Pay, one of the best and recognized hunters of Prontera, knocking down ranks of his enemies with his custom-made Arbalest and letting fly those deadly missiles. Last but not least, he had his long time friend, Piffy. The alchemist was in charge of the guild's economy and weaponry, not to mention, possessing the laudable talent to mix any kind of potions, be it acid formulas for battle, or detergents. He too knew a great deal about weapon forging, occasionally offering his services to his guild members only. Pay's powerful Arbalest was one of his works.

Cerberus dwelled on the notion of their upcoming victory again, never expected that his guild was going to fall apart. He may not have the chance to fight along side with them anymore.


	3. Divided loyalties

**3**

The beefy monk paced the grassy ground while supervising his two subordinates. He had a nondescript brown Sweet Gent perched on his skull, enveloping half of his face in the shadows. Though half hidden, one could see his face creased together in a grim look. His fingers were red from abrasions and ugly scars marred his hands from fighting with his Kaiser Knuckle fist weapon.

Tien looked up from his feet to once more supervise the two's progress. The two, who were brothers, hacked away relentlessly at any willow which happened to be in sight. Although they were working hard, or appeared to be, the State Overlord guild master was not at all pleased at the result. His face creased even more, this time into a scowl.

"Did you hear me not? I demand more! More! Do you realize how much time have we left?" yelled Tien, grabbing both the knights' cloak with each hand. Since they were in the Payon vicinity, a handful of archers diverted their attention from their training to the punishment, some discussing casually while others merely laughed at two grown men receiving a harsh scolding from someone physically stronger than they are.

The brothers were provoked, but they dare not voice their displeasure. Putting their defiance aside, they went back to their willow hunt after their leader's reprimand. Before the two knights left, they had only produced four miserable brown sticks. Grumbling in frustration, he summoned both knights to return to him.

"I'm raising both your taxes to the guild, as punishment for your slow pace and becoming the source of my frustration," Tien said without any trace of pardon, then circling the entrance area with his index finger, encompassing it. "I bet those low-life novices fighting for their lives with a fabre there can do better than you two. Now get your armored butts back to our base!" With that said he whipped out a blue gemstone and opened a warp portal. Whispering his destination, he stepped into the blue pillar and vanished.

The brothers vanished shortly after their leader, each using a butterfly wing as their mode of transportation.

-

-

-

"Maybe we should look for Skull?" Pay asked, worried that he would not turn up for the battle rather than his safety. Manald was just as frantic as her guild mate was, as she paced the wooden floor up and down for the twenty-seventh time.

"He keeps disappearing like a spoiled four year old. He's probably at Sbanhealt now for all ya know, preparing to slay his long-time nemesis," Piffy said, trying to console the hunter and priestess. That, however, was not his main purpose. He actually wanted Manald to stop pacing the floor, which aggravated his growing giddiness. Still frowning over the slight damage of the door, the alchemist secured the bottles which hung loosely at his thick belt.

"Don't you feel constricted? You might want to get a bigger belt for your inflating belly," Nimmber joked, endeavoring to liven up the gloomy mood due to Skull's absence.

The alchemist wanted to come up with a sharp rejoinder, but Cerberus cut him short, asking him to lie down on his bed to rest more, in case his yet-to-recover nose bled again.

"We shall take our leave in five minutes," Cerberus announced during his warm-ups. He took a few test slashes at the air with his Firebrand, then with his ice falchion, readying himself for the grand, final guild war. He was a unique knight, without a doubt, distinguishing himself from others. Instead of equipping himself with a sword and shield like almost every knight did, he wielded two swords, namely firebrand and ice falchion, often assailing his enemies with bolts of fire and hoarfrost simultaneously which erupts from the magically enchanted swords during critical situations.

Meanwhile, Manald sat with her eyes closed in concentration, making use of the five minutes to replenish her energy needed for spell casting later. Pay was putting on his bow thimble, his recent purchase, then started counting the number of arrows he had in stock due to the boredom. Apparently Nimmber was bored stiff too, for she was leaping about, peering into the kitchen, which was unusually dark even though the sun was shining brightly. Piffy then sat up from his bed suddenly, yelling for the frivolous rogue to back off; otherwise she would end up just like Cerberus a few years back. The recall of the accident embarrassed the experienced knight, much to the other's amusement.

"We better go, the announcer is hurrying the absent guilds again," Cerberus said.

The rest stood up, walking after their leader who was already running to their base. Except for Sagizelus. The wizard complained about stomach upsets, urging the others to leave without him, and that he would arrive in time to participate in the fight. Before Piffy left though, the alchemist warned Sagi about going into his workshop. The wizard gave him a smile, then headed to the toilet and waited. He waited a few minutes after he heard the click of the door being closed, making sure that nobody returned. He then climbed atop the toilet bowl, reaching his hands up to the window and unlatched it. When he saw the window, he decided to escape through it rather than exiting through the main door, for fear of being seen by his guild mates, who would ask him to join them. Then, his schemes would flop just like that. He took precaution in everything he did, regardless of his speech or actions, so there was lesser risk that his plans would be revealed and get himself exposed. They might probably make clean work of him, just like how he "made clean work of the Phreeoni".

He was relieved to find the window wide enough for him to exit. He immediately pulled the windows apart, leaping through it, and landed smoothly on his booted feet. Noting a large dent in the wall, he used it as a foothold and hoisted himself up. He then proceeded to close the window, therefore erasing all evidence of his movements. Smiling at his own intelligence, he started to the Creamhilt base once more.

-

-

-

"The wizard should be here by now," Tien muttered impatiently. He pushed a guard aside, staring into the distance, hoping to catch a hint of his arrival.

A blonde huntress emerged by the stairs, walking behind the impatient Tien with a ballista in her hand, trying to strap the heavy war crossbow onto her back Placing a hand on his shoulders, she whispered seductively into his ears.

"You should get back in, why bother yourself with such trivial matters, especially this up-to-no-good wizard. I must admit though, he's rather... attractive."

Tien turned his head sideways, glaring at huntress who came to bother him every five minutes. Removing her hands from his shoulders, he resumed his stare towards the entrance, anticipating the wizard's arrival.

Flashing him a cheeky grin, she said, "I'm just referring to his powers."

Finding no entertainment, she gave a playful jab in Tien's ribs, much to his annoyance. She then left, walking past the exhausted guards, instantly perking them up as her well curved behinds drew leering gazes.

Sagi bought himself a few dozens of fly wings, teleporting himself around the large arena housing five castle bases, namely Creamhilt, Sbanhealt, Lazgirees, Squalgul and Guindull. He hoped against hope that he would not appear in his guild base, or worse, right in front of his guild. Crushing a wing in his palm, he let himself enter the realm of teleportation and out he came, falling face first into concrete floor. After a brief reconnaissance, he was surprised at his luck. He recognized the familiar Creamhilt castle by the State Overlord logo and their flag design.

He walked through corridors, descended the stairs and turned into corners without faltering. It was as if this was where he resided in his life. Finally he spotted Tien when he reached a balcony, a blonde huntress standing beside him and whispered into his ears. He recognized the huntress, Elemire, notorious for her flirtatious behavior. She was not only an attractive hunter, she was skillful with her bow and her aim was deadly, never failing to miss her targeted spot.

He shook his head at the intimacy of her behavior. Elemire shortly left the apparently irritated monk, who was looking ahead. Sagi guessed that he was expecting him, and then gathered up his long robes before quickening his pace.

"Tien."

The monk whipped around to face the sudden call, slightly surprised at Sagi's unexpected appearance. Or rather, appeared at the unexpected place.

"You have come," Tien said, his face ever impassive.

Sagi looked straight into his eyes, suddenly realizing the helplessness of this dysfunctional guild. They only managed to survive because of Sagi's efforts. The wizard had reminded them on occasions not to place their dependency solely on him, for he is not an official member of the guild. On top of that, he will not be present on every occasion to aid them.

Since this was the final round of guild wars, Sagi realized the importance of it. This time, he decided to aid them directly, to make State Overlord known, to make their presence felt after this war. He took matters into his own hands, forsaking his guild, all the while making plans for their antagonist discreetly.

He dwelled on the past relationship of both guilds, which used to be united, a contrast to the ongoing hostility currently. A few years back, the Avengers was not as popular, not to mention, less capable of achieving easy wins unlike now. The head of the guild was a priest then, known as Holan Hosbane. They intensified their training by tenfold under Holan's suggestion and management, soon, the Avenger shot to fame due to a spectacular defeat over the supposedly strongest guild in Prontera.

Recruits for the guild escalated together with their fame. Just overnight, over thirty new recruits were drafted into Avengers, the overwhelming response posing as a difficulty for the day, for there was much dilemma going on. A few weeks later, the guild was so large that it split into two branches excluding the main, with Sagi put in charge of one.

Either due to their incompetence or for no apparent reason, the latter more reasonable, the branch Sagi was in charge of was often neglected over the years. At first Sagi opposed the idea fiercely, but the members had ceased heeding his warnings and acted at their own pleasure. They demonstrated their discontent by assaulting the other branch without mercy, forcing the survivors fleeing. Holan Hosbane sent his best warriors to stop their outrageous assault, either by force or by talks. Apparently his efforts were futile, for the branch retaliated, with more might. The well-respective priest had completely lost control over this incident, despite the dispatching of his ferocious men. About two nights later, Holan was discovered dead on his bed, apparently slain in the middle of the night by some assassin of the branch.

Sagi became the mediator, but somehow he felt drawn to State Overlord. He sensed their urgency, sensed that they need more powers. All these while, the wizard's loyalties remained divided. He felt tired of it occasionally, having to be in both guilds at the same time, coming up with ploys for the Overlords and playing the loyal member of Avenger. One day, he must decide where his loyalties should lie. The final rounds of the guild war gave him a notion that that particular day would just be the day of his choice, his exposure.

The demise of the priest, a motivational figure for other members to excel, did not seem to bode well for the branch, which had since formed a guild of their own, proclaiming themselves as the State Overlord. Cerberus, the undefeated knight known for his long dedication to Avenger, was voted to helm the guild. Ever since, these two guilds had dueled and combated each other, their rivalry still going on until now.

"I need the rest to be present," Tien said. It was as if everyone else heard his summon. Elemire joined the wizard and the monk first, before the brothers, Agis and Wart, materialized into view, several brown sticks gripped in their gauntleted hands. Tien's face turned sour upon seeing the brown sticks, reminding him of their inefficiency. He had expected many more than what the brothers had collected. But he had to admit those were a little unusual, it looked slightly thicker than normal ones and suddenly he squinted when there was a very brief flash of light, for he thought that the sticks had _glowed_. Shaking the uneasiness away, he looked up to see that Galor and Opium, their blacksmith, was already present during his scrutiny on the _glowing_ sticks.

"Von's working on it now," Galor reported.

"Good. This is your final chance to slay your little 'brother-in-law', Galor. Don't fail me. Carry on with your assigned task," the monk said, concentrating his thoughts somewhere else rather than their feud.

"Tien, the zeny's delivered. They looked agreeable to our proposal for alliance," Opium said.

"Just as I expected from that mercenary bunch," the monk replied with a smirk. "What about the assault on Sbanhealt?"

"They too agreed on it. We'll follow up their attack."

"Very well. Now we shall witness the annihilation of Cerberus and his Avengers," the monk said, letting out his guffaw.

Meanwhile, a blare of a horn alerted the city of Prontera, indicating the commencing of the final, yet destructive, guild wars.


	4. The hunter ambushed

4

At the moment the horn blared, the people in Prontera, regardless of travelers, residents or guards, even the announcer himself, formed such a large crowd that could have deterred a massive Baphomet's entrance to the guild war arena. Screaming kids made up the front of the crowd, cheering till hoarse for the guild they were supporting.

The heart of the crowd suddenly scattered and dispersed, clearing the passage for the grand arrival of King Tristan the Third, who was heavily guarded by a handful of veteran knights and crusaders. The people turned their attention towards their king, bowing their heads low due respect, and reverence for the white bearded emperor.

Most of the people mumbled scornfully at those heavily armed protectors, some silently cursing them for flinging them aside to create a passageway for the king, without even a brief apology. Despite their valiant nature, their foul attitude had made them a target of aversion. Yet, the security enforced in their presence had somehow neutralized the feeling of abhorrence.

The announcer stepped up to a high platform and gave a short speech to calm the hysterical crowd and reduce the long anticipation. Even the king himself felt like part of the crowd, since the same anticipation did not fail to assail him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the very last and final battle of supremacy between the guilds begin!" the announcer proudly announced.

The blare of the horn reached a higher crescendo, as if trying to keep up with the increasing excitement. That only made the hyper-active crowd screamed the louder.

-

-

-

"Damn, we're one member less. What now?" Pay spoke. His question only made his guild worry more.

"There's nothing we can do. Nor do we back out," Cerberus declared.

A look of suspicion crossed Nimmber's fair face. She was deep in thought for a little while longer, before she spoke up.

"That's not the first time he goes to toilet before a guild war," she mumbled.

However, Manald's sensitive ears caught those words.

"What are you thinking?" the dubious priestess asked.

"Nothing," the rogue retorted suddenly, realizing that she was heard.

"You think you might be telling us? There's not much time left, you know?"

"Hmm... Might it be that he crossed over to their side? After all he's a former leader of them."

"That's not possible."

"You'll never know, Manald. He might be an avaricious type."

"Enough. Be glad we're one less instead of two as expected prior," Piffy ineterrupted, reminding them that at least Skull is participating in the battle with them after he left.

At the mention of the assassin, they somehow felt slightly consoled, for he was one of the most skillful members of the guild. He was on par with his guild leader, Cerberus, if not better, due to his advantage in evasion type moves. Skull merely snorted, turning his head away and letting his thoughts drift away.

"Keep to our usual plan. With or without Sagi, we still have to go on," the rogue said as the blaring of horn drowned her words.

The knight leader hollered to his guild, repeating his plans.

"Manald, Piffy, defend the emperium chamber. Pay, get to the top of the tower, and find yourself a good vantage point. Then rain our potential assailants with your arrows."

The hunter, swelling with confidence and euphoria for some action, started his ascend up the towers without delay.

"Without Sagi, I think we will have to do away with our exterior defence. We gotta rely on Pay now. Nimmber and Skull will disrupt State Overlord's proceedings, while I fight off threat from other guilds," the knight continued.

A series of heavy footfalls were heard rushing down the stairs. The Avenger turned around to find Pay racing frantically down the stairs and towards them, his right sleeve stained with blood. A stick seemed to be protruding out of his right shoulder. Upon closer examination, they realized that a freezing arrow had pierced into his shoulder. The hunter grimaced and clutched his shoulder, trying hard to fight off the excruciating pain. He had lost all feeling in his right arm due to the freezing effect, his whole arm slowly turning blue.

"What in Midgard happened?" Piffy shouted as they helped Pay to the base of the stairs.

"Oh no, that's two lost now," Nimmber said.

"Shut up. We need to find out what's going on," Cerberus replied

Pay, still clutching his arm tightly and clenching his teeth in pain, finally found the strength to speak.

"This is no good at all. We got two whole guilds after our necks. Looks like the State Overlord had found themselves an alliance. I was struck by their alliance the minute I reached the tower top. I can't... can't continue this. They immobilized my good arm," Pay explained, offering a quick apology.

Just as the injured hunter concluded his story, the guild heard harsh smites on the tough double doors, threatening to force it open with each attempt. They had no doubt that it was the alliance Pay was talking about.


	5. Battling the alliance

5

Sagizelus teleported himself around the arena, his fly wings diminishing rapidly. When he realized had one fly wing left, he clasped his hands in a prayer and silently hoped that this fly wing would bring him to the Sbanhealt base.

He emerged into a rather noisy base, so the wizard judged that this guild might be in the midst of a battle. He heard the clanking of steel against steel, the cry of the injured and the incantations of spells. He quickly gathered himself up and advanced gingerly, trying to refrain from being discovered.

Making a brief scout of the area, he realized that the hallway where he was right now led to the main hall. Though the hallway was rather familiar to him, he decided to keep his presence unnoticed. With that planned, he had the spell of Energy Coat at his lips, so he could defend himself immediately in case someone was aware of his presence.

He pressed himself flat against the stone wall, slowly peering out to the main hall, where the battle was taking place. The increasing screams of agony reverberated throughout the sparsely decorated hall, causing the wizard's curiosity to develop tenfold.

Sagi felt relieved and alert at the same time when he spotted his guild members. He was relieved that he finally teleported into Sbanhealt with the unpredictable fly wings. But, he was alert for it was time to put his plans into action, recalling what Tien had told him just moments ago.

-

-

-

The latch securing wooden double door cracked and split apart after about twenty attempts, sending the doors flinging wide open. A tall and beefy blacksmith carrying a bloody and enormous axe that looked like it weigh a ton, stood at the front of his men. Supposedly the guild master, he lifted the axe with one well-built arm and gave a battle roar that seemed to boost his attack speed and power.

The blacksmith led his men forward, swiping his axe upward in an arc at an equally sturdy knight standing in a defensive stance, two swords in each gauntleted hand. But the blacksmith might as well have hit a tough concrete wall, for the Avenger was protected by Manald's Kyrie Eleison spell. The astounded blacksmith fell backwards as his axe ricocheted harmlessly off the impenetrable, magical shield.

Two hunters of the guild fired arrow after arrow at the rear, but in vain as the arrows merely rebounded off their targets. They both swore in frustration, having to wait till the effect wear off before resuming their ranged attacks. Even their falcons were hopelessly attacking the protected Avenger.

Out of the shadows came a pale-purple cloaked figure, leaping onto both hunters of the opposition, slapping the flat side of his Infiltrator in their faces, sending them sprawling backwards, their bow flying out of their hands. Destroying both weapons with an effortless slice of his katar, the two helpless hunters fled the base as fast as their wobbly legs would take them, otherwise their heads would become part of the assassin's possession.

A monk of the alliance made use of Body Relocation to access to the scheming assassin faster after he saw the fleeing of the two hunters, only to find him out of sight. Apparently, the assassin was much quicker despite the monk's short teleportation move.

Piffy then snuck up behind the unsuspecting monk, hurling a bottle of flame bottle at him, igniting his back. The fast-growing flame soon enveloped his torso, then his thighs. The human torch danced around madly, desperately trying to douse the flame, screaming in utter agony. But obviously, it was impossible to do so single handedly. Moreover, the immolation was too strong to get rid of.

The human torch suddenly stopped in his wild movements, staggering a few steps before collapsing in a burning heap, the screams dying down.

"Save those for State Overlord!" Cerberus shouted for Piffy.

Tossing a grin in his way to mean that he did that for his pleasure, the alchemist unbuckled an acid bottle, preparing to disfigure his next assailant.

Cerberus put on a fierce fight against the well-trained battle-smith, wielding both blades artfully to fend off the blacksmith's aggressive advances. The knight then abandoned his defensive approach and switched to a more offensive tactic, hoping to overwhelm the blacksmith.

Apparently his plan seemed to work, for the blacksmith's attack started to falter, his previously aggressive attempts to weaken the knight became earnest attempts to defend the ice falchion and firebrand.

Summoning the powers of the enchanted swords, Cerberus leaped backwards, holding both swords up in a cross, concentrating in the summoning process with eyes closed. Sensing the charge of the blacksmith, who was preparing to eliminate Cerberus once and for all with Hammer Fall, he shot open his eyes, slashing both blades in a downward arc. That, however, was not meant to decapitate his adversary, but instead, a series of glacial white and fiery red bolts rained onto and around the blacksmith, causing him to succumb to the paralytic magic attack. Slumping onto the ground in defeat, he let death takes its toll on him.

Meanwhile, when the Avenger thought they were safe temporarily, Tien and his guild stood outside, ready to bring the _glowing _sticksinto action.

Observing the guild a little while longer, Sagi quickly ran down the hallway and up the stairway. Within a minute he ascended to the top of the towers and walked to the edge of the roof, where the State Overlord stood waiting below. Murmuring in an arcane tongue, he casting Sight. Balls of fire flared brightly circled around him, signaling for Tien and his henchmen to start the invasion.


	6. Beginning of catastrophe

6

Elemire ran up to her leader, Tien, reluctantly relaying the news.

"They were thoroughly defeated. Two died and the rest fled, Tien. One of the deceased was, practically, _burnt_ to death"

The huntress expected her leader to cry out indignantly, either that or he would vent his frustrations on the brothers. However, neither of that happened. He was concentrating his thoughts somewhere else, apparently unbothered by the defeat of their guinea pig.

The monk looked up to see the wizard signal them with Sight. Turning to his guild, he gave the green light, not before handing each of them a fly wing.

"Von will come in as soon as you head in. Your jobs are easy, simply distract them" Tien assured them.

With that said, Elemire, Galor, Agis, Wart, Von and Opium, readied themselves and barged into the infiltrated base and formed a tight group. The Avenger, surprised at the unexpected invasion, immediately took up their weapons and anticipated the onslaught. But the appearance of a wizard distracted them. The wizard, striding purposefully into the base entrance with his hands full of blue gemstones, caused the Avenger to mistake him for Sagi. Their brief misjudgment ended as they realized that the wizard was wearing white robes, unlike Sagi.

The strange wizard, his face hidden behind a Masquerade mask, tossed the gemstones into the air and waggled his fingers. Then, the blue gemstones in the air glowed and halted in the midst of the fall, slowly circling and widening the diameter of the circle formed. With a sharp command, a broad, pinkish pillar erected, encompassing the whole of State Overlord, rather than the normal safety wall than only protects each person individually.

The Avenger let their breathe out in disbelief, for before them stood the erection of a large version of Safety Wall. Nobody had cast this out of the ordinary spell before, not even in the history.

"How in the name of Odin did he do that?" Cerberus murmured.

"I've never seen this before," Pay exclaimed, his arm still disabled from the earlier attack on his shoulder. They had already removed the arrow, but Manald was still unable to heal the hideous wound completely. The hunter had asked her to stop, so she could save her energy for the rest instead.

"I wish Sagi was here though," Nimmber hoped.

They continued observing the phenomenon, none wanting to attack, well aware that the massive wall of protection would repel all sorts of hostility.

The wizard, by the name of Von, started towards the large safety wall – and the earth beneath him vibrated violently before it exploded. A plot of the earth thrust upwards, sending the wizard flying a few feet up the air and then plummeted face first. Recognizing the Heaven's Drive spell, Cerberus turned around to see Sagi standing behind them, his arms still extended after the spell casting. The safety wall suddenly vanished following Von's fall.

The female rogue stared wide-eyed at Sagi, saying something that sounded like, "He sure appears at the right time."

"Where have you –"

"Well, well. Sagi to the rescue yet again," a deep voice interjected. Tien stepped through the castle doors with the sticks still in his hands, looking surreptitiously at Sagi.

"What do you want?" the wizard asked.

The undeterred monk continued advancing, as if unaffected by the fact that he was unarmed. On the contrary, the rest of the Overlords began to increase their awareness due to the deprivation of their battle gears, plus, their only means of protection, the mighty safety wall, was dispelled.

"King Tristan and this accursed city of his are going to perish, all because of you underhand bunch," the impassive monk continued, shifting his stare to Skull as he spoke, silently pointing out the culprit of the corrosion incident.

The defenseless Overlords looked tempting to exterminate, but Cerberus held them back firmly, reminding them that killing a defenseless opponent will deem them a coward since it is not a fair combat.

"How noble of you, Sir Knight. Unfortunately, it'll be the last time you're going to play the good guy," Tien said, noticing the lecture Cerberus gave.

"You see, knight, what I have here, is more than enough to wipe out Prontera, not to mention, you fools here," he said, holding up four dead branches.

"You bas–"Pay halted when Manald clamped his mouth shut, telling him not to provoke anyone in his debilitated state.

"You should go, my men. Goodbye," Tien spoke in a bizarre tone, preparing to chant the incantations needed to invoke the dead branches into any monstrosities at random.

"Don't get excited too soon, filthy monk. Four porings might come out instead!" Piffy mocked.

Ignoring the alchemist, Tien continued chanting the incantations not everyone knows. He spread his palms out over the dead branches which started to illuminate brighter than a torch. A sense of satisfaction and power coursed through the monk's body, causing him to chant louder and faster, but incoherently. After a brief pause in his chants, he let the branches fall, much to the Avenger's curiosity and maybe even, trepidation.

"Divine heavens and shadowy hells; grant the existence of the merciless beings!"

The four thick dead branches emanated such white, blinding light that everybody at the scene was forced to shield their painful eyes from the light. An ear piercing howl intensified the phenomenon, threatening to destroy their eardrums and replacing their courage with horror. The howl then became a menacing growl, that of a blood-thirsty werewolf.

When the light slowly dissipated and the debilitating screams died, the apparitions standing before them were nothing of resemblance to werewolves. Instead, four humanoid warriors were brought into existence through nondescript yet vicious branches.

The Overlords stood staring at the four unusually humongous warriors wide eyed and with drooping jaws, totally forgetting about their planned escape until Tien frantically shouted at them. Recovering from their shock, they fumbled for a fly wing and teleported to elsewhere.

During the summoning process, when the white light blinded everyone, Sagi took opportunity of the spellbound Avenger and sneaked to the entrance, then out of the base with goggles shielding his eyes from the hurting light. He made use of the doors to hide himself, at the same time surveying the scene attentively. Other battles were still going on, but not as destructive and exciting when it just started. The cheers subsided, most of the audience enthralled, a minority affected with a sore throat from the incessant screams.

Seeing the four demonic warriors materialize, he immediately acted accordingly as planned. Gathering his magical abilities, he summoned walls of spike-topped ice pillars along the entrance. Summoning a few more rows of ice walls behind the first in case it wears off, he smiled to himself as the entrance was sealed tightly, barring the escape route.


	7. The four spawns

7

Looming over the group were four fearsome, aristocratic knights belonging to the corrupted labyrinth of the demonic world. Stormy Knight, Abyss Knight, Doppelganger and the Lord of Death stood abreast, creating an aura of doom.

Each of the four stood at least two feet taller than an average human height. The Avenger was shrouded in the shadows cast by the spawns of the dead branch, each of them awaiting death to befall them, which was obviously going to happen anytime soon.

The Stormy Knight indeed possessed the characteristics it's name suggested. Covered in the color of storm, a striking pale blue, the approximately eight feet demonic knight carried a shield and a sword with a color which matched his body. The brown shield it held was carved exquisitely into a face of a certain pharaoh, although small, but it just seemed to accentuate his already sturdy defense. It barred it's row of jagged teeth at the group, ready to snap someone's neck.

Beside it was the notorious Doppelganger, an undead swordsman of exact replica to some swordsmen found on the Prontera streets. It's appearance of a novice swordsman eluded many, for his powers far exceeded a veteran knight despite it's naive look.

Entering the world of Rune-Midgard together with both of them were mounted warriors, the Abyss Knight and the Lord of Death, which definitely looked twice as lethal. The two ten foot tall knights were a distinct contrast, not only in their color, but their steed as well. The ebony Abyss Knight, draped in the attire of the deepest black with crimson outlines, rode on an equally dark nightmare. It's helmet, which looked something like an overturned pail, encased his head. A tiny slit in the helmet revealed those beady, yet fiery eyes.

The Lord of Death, however, wore armor of gleaming silver, not excluding his tough steed. It looked as if the monstrous knight itself could turn night into day. A humongous, great sword dangled ominously from it's right hand, the other hand holding the reins of his heavily geared horse.

Manald trembled uncontrollably, motionless from the gut-wrenching terror that seized her senses and drained her energy. The sense of urgency wrecked the jeopardized guild, for their pleas for the priestess to open a warp portal were unanswered. The badly traumatized Manald just continued sitting, unmoving, staring up at the four formidable monstrosities.

The unnerving sight too brought uncertainty and hesitation to the rest. Initially the group planned to make a beeline for the entrance; however, to their dismay and horror, Pay dismissed the idea since his superior sight spotted the rows of ice wall sealing off the entrance, barring their escape.

"They're bent on eradicating us," the distressed leader of the group said.

"We underestimated the cursed Overlords," Skull added, aiding Manald in her recovery process together with Pay and Piffy.

Nimmber shifted uncomfortably. "Look who's the underhand bunch now. That Von guy is a murderer!"

"The monk might be the mastermind," Cerberus guessed.

"Hey!" Pay exclaimed. "Where's Sagi?"

That introduced another dilemma following the hunter's observation.

"There's no reward even if you guessed his whereabouts right. Get to the tower top now, quickly!"

The four demon spawns seemed to overhear their conversation, for they approached at a faster pace, eager for a kill. The Lord of Death, apparently, was not some impulsive, lumbering animal charging head on without pondering about the possible dangers. The shiny knight had plans forming. Lifting it's great sword of about fifty inches, it brought the massive blade down towards Manald, hoping to sever her body into two halves. Without their priestess, in other words, without their only means of escape, the four could prey on the group with any means they deem fit.

Well-attuned to his surroundings and impending dangers, Skull leaped over the priestess instinctively and brandished his Infiltrator. He swung his left katar sideways, hoping to knock the heavy blade off target.

Surprised at the success of his first attempt, the Lord of Death's sword indeed swayed off track. But in the process, the blade somehow inflicted a deep cut in the assassin's left bicep. Wincing in pain, he screamed for the group to make a run.

Pay offered to carry the priestess, but stopped when a sharp pain acted up in his right shoulder, reminding him of his injury. Cerberus then took the cue and carried her, his strong legs taking him up the stairways as swiftly as possible. Piffy and Nimmber followed closely behind, concerned about Skull's safety. They wanted to assist him, but the obstinate assassin waved them off, assuring them that he would find his own means of escape.

Meanwhile, at the foyer of the Sbanhealt castle base, Skull did not want to escape just yet. Noticing a few blue gemstones left over from Von's earlier spectacular spell, he cloaked himself into the walls, keeping himself well hidden. Albeit the knowledge that these superior demons would still spot him, that was the only choice he had to move efficiently.

Emerging out of the walls, the four marching towards him with the two mounted knights in the lead, he ran ahead, sweeping up the gemstones along the way. The shrewd assassin then proceeded to hide underground.

Skull was well aware of the distance between him and the four knights closing up every second. He immediately summoned bone spikes that shot up from the ground, with the Grimtooth ability. However, that was not directed at the four, but rather towards the entrance blocked with the melting ice walls.


	8. Unexplained emotions

8

The melting ice walls cracked at first, but slowly it crept up higher, more cracks forming along the way.

A series of bone spikes protruded up from the ground yet again, breaking the foundation of the cold walls, sending more large cracks forming. Loose shards of ice occasionally rained down, which had Skull's hope rising as much as the ice fell.

The assassin summoned one more series of spikes, this time, he thought as if he heard millions of shale smashing onto the ground. The ice wall splintered and gave way, the rows of it crashing on top of each felled one, the impact shattering more ice blocks. The collapse of the wall sent shards after shards of jagged ice pieces flying in all directions, creating a minor whirlwind.

Skull raised his forearm over his eyes, shielding himself from the mad swirling of the remnants from broken walls, as did the four demonic knights. However, that did not affect the four as much as Skull did, partly because they were well-armored, and partly because this was nothing significant since they superior physics could endure much more than a human.

The four stopped for a while before they continued marching forward, ready to annihilate this evasive target. The Abyss Knight reined his nightmare, whispering commands at it to hasten it's speed. The nightmare whinnied and raised it's two front legs in preparation for the dash, obeying it's master's harsh command.

The monstrous steed started bounding at Skull at breakneck speed, hoping to take him down and let it's master finish the kill.

Yet again Skull vanished, the exasperated knight slapping his steed ever more violently. The abused nightmare grimly sniffed the area, searching for the scent of a human, the assassin responsible for it's punishment.

The nightmare suddenly screamed, a piercing scream that would have sent a phalanx of yoyos scampering into their holes. The ebony knight looked underneath the undead horse to spot the bone spikes protruding out of the ground, stabbing deep into the underside. The agonizing scream persisted, not long before it ended when a disembodied foreleg belonging to the nightmare was sliced off by a vicious blade. The blade of the Infiltrators.

Skull appeared out of the underground again, his katar dripping with dark, murky blood. A pair of fiery, red eyes glowed brighter in hatred, fixing on the assassin. The Abyss Knight was without it's steed, for the handicap nightmare was lying in the dark pool of blood, unconscious from the loss of a leg. But that does not mean the knight was weaker without it, instead, he was just as worthy an opponent without cavalry.

Skull turned and left the base, droplets of water leaping off the puddle from his footsteps. All these while he had killed and wounded his adversaries, be it human or not, he did not feel any remorse or despair, until today. Somehow his merciless attack on the horse made his heart heavy. Something gnawed at him, bothering him. The assassin felt perplexed, pondering about previous experiences that never did affect him in any way. Then he shrugged off his thoughts and buried his emotions, resuming his persona as the killer devoid of emotions.

The other three stared at the macabre nightmare, then at the Abyss Knight, watching his every move.

"I do not want you to become a burden. You should go. Your sufferings will end."

After the mournful echo stopped, the Abyss Knight knelt before his alter ego on one knee. He stood up, placing his hands on the hilt of his sword, taking one last look at it, for he would never see it again. Removing it from the sheath silently, he brought the blade down, putting an end to the ghostly horse's existence.


	9. Skull to the rescue!

9

"You are our only hope now! Sober up, please," the rogue encouraged, lightly tapping Manald's cheeks to get her attention.

Pay turned to her. "Maybe this will help?"

The hunter withdrew a bottle with half-filled water. Pulling out the cork, he dumped the content over the stricken priestess, the water splashing over her lithe body. She suddenly jerked with a start unexpectedly, sending the rogue falling backwards. Water was dripping down her deep brown hair of shoulder-length, her holy robes soaking wet.

Manald's glare reflected her irritation, scanning each person who was the likely culprit.

"Err... If you don't mind, that was to get you out of your delirium. "

"Of everything else you have to get me wet!? You're –"

A resounding crash clearly rang through the air, cutting the irate priestess short. The hunter was relieved as the crash stopped what would have been, another fatal pinch or a palm over his cheeks.

Cerberus stood over the edge of the tower top, peering down below. The once mighty ice walls were now degenerated into puddles of water and miniature ice shards, clearing the previously sealed entrance. Expecting that to be the work of the four giants to exit the base, he immediately drew his two swords out in advance to engage in the hopeless battle. Instead, Skull came running out of the base, artfully crossing over the bone spikes he raised. Feeling the worry lifted off him, he returned to the group and relayed the news of Skull's safety.

Returning to the group was not his first decision. The assassin dashed across the arena square, leaping up the platform to where the announcer stood watching, totally mesmerized, not realizing that an assassin was standing just beside him.

A hot discussion about the assassin's leave from the arena slowly turned into a frenzy cheering.

Skull shook the announcer and grabbed him by the collars, instructing him to tell the king and the rest of the spectators to leave at once, for a group of demonic knights was going to terrorize this city and destroy it into smithereens.

The startled announcer, foolishly nodding his head, reached for his microphone. Soon after the announcement regarding the escape was made, the spectators were skeptical at first, thinking that this was a ploy to enhance the excitement, since this was the final round of guild wars before the king decided to re-open it.

However, all of their speculations were confirmed to be inaccurate, for the Abyss Knight came out, following behind were Stormy Knight, Doppelganger and the powerhouse of them all, Lord of Death.

The arena now looked like a large organization of ants desperately finding shelter from an oncoming storm. People jostled each other, trying to get out of the arena and run home as quickly as possible. The human stampede was furious, a handful were already injured from harsh elbowing and pushing.

The knights guarding King Tristan immediately formed a barricade around him, protecting him from the unexpected human traffic. Their heavy sense of duty had them ensuring their king's safety. Albeit the distance, it was as if even the presence of the four demons would hurt the king.

The arena was empty in a matter of minutes, the king immediately leaving after all the resident made their way out. King Tristan returned to his castle and held meetings with nobles and chiefs of respective Pronteran army departments without delay, warning them of the danger and requesting for immediate assembling of troops.

Skull ran back to the Sbanhealt base, but away from the four. Summoning once again the bone spikes up the walls, he used it as hand and footholds to reach the tower top.

Their hopes of escaping this arena were dashed as they overlooked the fact that a blue gemstone was needed to operate the spell successfully. Since they did not stock up on gemstones, they now sat in despair, the rogue and alchemist cursing incessantly. Manald then whined in irritation for she was soaked for naught, sending an acid state at the hunter's way. Fearing the attack, Pay went over to Cerberus, using him as his shield.

A noise that sounded like bones splintering apart alerted the group, jerking their heads towards the source of disturbance. The group readied themselves, brandishing axes and swords, words to a spell forming, arrows notched. White hair was what they saw at first. Then a lean figure hoisted itself over the ledge, landing gracefully, and silently. The latter made the group put away their weapons, for they knew too well that was none other than Skull.

He cut short of those who started to speak, hurling a couple of blue gemstones to Manald.

"Quick, the others need to be warned."

The group gave the assassin an appreciative nod, except for the rogue who marveled at him for saving them from their predicament.

Manald clasped one of the two gemstones in her fist, then spoke her destination. A blue, magical pillar shot up before them, the shifting colors half dazzled them. One by one they stepped into the blue pillar, the portal closing up after the last person stepped through.

-

-

-

The blare of a prolonged horn signified the presence of hostility within the city, spurring the Prontera army into action. The Chiefs left their barracks for the main castle, where the king resided, not before ordering their men to stop their drills and gear themselves for the battle.

The acolytes and priests in the church too made preparations, memorizing and recalling the incantations as to how the spell works, to ensure that they would not falter at the last minute. Monks were rarely recruited into the Pronteran army, since most of them were wandering around Midgard in their own quests and adventures. The few monks in the church polished their knuckle weapons, proudly slotting it over the fists, knocking both fists against each other to display a brief demonstration of the damage they were going to inflict. Many carried with them a spare fist since the knuckle weapon they were using currently usually breaks, an aftermath of the devastating extremity fist.

-

-

-

Meanwhile, the arena was being destroyed as the four wrecked destruction upon it, sending base after base collapsing into a heap of stones. Tall beams lay broken by the pathways, debris showering over the square. The ground the four treaded was no longer the white marble, but layers of stones. Flags smeared with dirt fell from poles, some even torn into shreds from the sheer ferocity of the spawns.

Stormy Knight, Doppelganger, Abyss Knight and the Lord of Death marched on, their next destination the Prontera square.


	10. Chiefs and warlords of the oblong table

10

The Chiefs sat around the oblong table carved out of wood. A fine red cloth made from expensive Leib Olmai fur lay across the table, where meetings and political discussions took place. Glasses of honey ale imported from Geffen were placed at each seat of the long table, which was considered a little vacant as about fifty people could attend the meeting without any lack of space.

Only nine persons were present including the king, the rest made up of Chiefs of the footmen department, bowmen department, cavalry department, support department, scout department and the armory department. The footmen department consists of knights and crusaders fighting on foot, which was the main melee force of a battle after the cavalry.

The bowmen department consists of hunters and a minority of archers, mainly in charge of ranged assaults, breaking the ranks of enemies with their shower of arrows.

Monks, acolytes and priests made up the support department. Usually placed at the vanguard of an army, they boost the morale and capability of the army, driving them on, not to mention that they too acted as the first aid. On the other hand, monks were put together with footmen, attacking with their deadly fists and unmatched martial arts.

The scout department had different races, but a majority was assassins or rogues, a minority of hunters. Because of their shifty nature, they were well suited for this job. Hunters were employed as their falcons were just as suitable for reconnaissance missions.

Lastly, blacksmiths, alchemists and merchants formed the armory department, in charge of crafting and forging lethal equipments for the warriors. They were also largely depended on for the town's economy by conducting trades with other towns. Therefore there was a reason why the king sometimes value them more than anyone else.

The two remaining were the popular warlords of the Pronteran army, always in the lead during battles. The taller warlord, who wields a Zweihandler, was known to everyone as Larzen. The man had a beard grown over his under half of his face, strands of brown hair hanging past his eyebrows. He had to half shut his right eye at all times, for a past injury left his eye permanently damaged.

The second warlord was often mistaken for a dwarf. A thick, bushy white beard hung pass his meaty chin, curly white hair left uncombed, leaving it in a mess. Smith was about three-quarter of Larzen's height, which was already considered short by human standards. Known to indulge in dwarven history and traditions, the stout warlord fought with both hammer and axe in each hand, which very much resemble the fighting style of one.

The king looked at each Chief and warlord thoughtfully.

"I request the attendance of two, well-established guild. Otherwise, I have no wish to proceed," the king demanded.

Larzen raised a brow, biting his lower lip.

"Sounds like a good plan, yet unlikely to work out," the tall warlord said.

"I know what you're drivin' at, Zen," his counterpart responded. "Unless the sun rises from the west, these two giants won't ever be collaborating, y'know."

The king drummed the table impatiently.

"Yes, very unlikely to work out. Maybe this time round I should exercise a little bit of my authority."

"You force an alliance, they'll strike at each other," the cavalry chief protested.

"Do they not respect the king? If the verdict is final, both guilds must oblige. Otherwise... I will have no choice but to carry out the expulsion of both parties."

"They might just do that."

The king, apparently agreeing to his subjects in grim silence, started downing his glass of ale.

"Right, they might just do that," the king repeated the cavalry chief's words, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"There is much to be done. Chaos had already befallen on beloved city. I'd reckon there's massive bloodshed," Smith said.

The king snapped his fingers at one guard.

"Bring the Avenger and the Overlords here, as of this moment!"

The guard bowed his head in respect, then ran off to carry out his given task.

"My lord, why don't we employ the other guilds that were involved in the earlier competition? They might co-operate without disputes, at least," Larzen suggested.

"All able-bodied men will have to be involved in the battle, let alone these guilds. Before your arrivals, I made arrangements."

"I've reports that one unfortunate guild were killed by the four when they were trapped in the rubble," the bowmen chief said.

"Indeed. The rest would have still have to put their differences aside."

"Aye, Avenger and Overlords are tough nuts to crack though," Smith spoke absent-mindedly.

"Make no speculations just yet. We hear 'em, then we decide," Kegar, the armory chief said.

"Fine," the king said, slapping both palms on the table. "We'll hear what they've got to say."


	11. The hopeless battle

11

Even before the four crossed into the Prontera premises, the city was already thrown into confusion. So much so that the entire streets were dotted with frantic residents, every household wanting to make a quick escape. Somehow this pandemonium inspired the notion that the battle would be lost even before it started.

After a moment longer, Prontera was empty and still except for the distant trudging of the Lord of Death's horse hooves, the residents seeking refuge at the open fields outside Prontera, some traveling to other neighboring cities like Izlude and Geffen. Some archers headed back to their hometown, Payon, to either seek temporary shelter or warn their fellow townsmen of the impending invasion of the capital city of Rune-Midgard.

The evening was soon turning into night, the sky transforming from fiery orange to dull maroon shades, something that made the oppressive feeling stronger. The orb of fire had retired beyond the mountain peaks, leaving the moon to relieve it's task.

Six figures suddenly materialized into the white stone streets of the Prontera square, all of them showing signs of nausea and giddiness after leaving the teleportation portal, some massaging their temples while some blinked repeatedly, trying to fight off the vertigo. The Avenger scanned around, realizing that the whole city had already made their escape. The only ones who remained behind were the Pronteran army, most of the departments systematically forming lines and formation. It only goes to show the determination and the tenacity of them to free this city from harm, their daily training and drills serving well now.

Cerberus was the slowest to recover, probably due to his heavy armor or probably traveled least through portals. After he felt his senses return to him, he jerked his head back at the sound of running footfalls. Recognizing a guard from the castle from the emblems on his armor and sleeve, he anticipated bad news from him since castle guards rarely leave the palace for news relaying tasks. The king must be really desperate, so he thought.

"Greetings, the respected guild of Avenger," the young guard bowed his head low. "The king requests your attendance as of this moment. Shall I lead the way?"

"Please do," the knight leader responded politely.

The baffled guild frowned, giving each other a questioning look. Putting their doubts aside for the moment, they tagged behind Cerberus, walking along the familiar route which led to the castle.

-

-

-

"Might the king know of our misdeeds already?" Elemire asked, apparently just as perplexed as the Avenger as to why the king summoned them.

"Misdeeds? I'd prefer to use the word, retribution. Especially through the wrath of the four," Opium retorted.

Tien kept silent all the while, but tension had simply robbed him of his composure. He fingered with the buttons on his monk attire, earnestly hoping that the king would bring up nothing of the sort. But of course, better safe than sorry. Before this though, Tien had already prepared a lie. If the Avenger is indeed lying among the bloody, mutated corpse lying within the rubbles, how is he going to explain this if King Tristan brought it up?

Elemire strode up to her leader.

"Wipe that frown already, Tien. I'd wager my crossbow that nobody witnessed that except for the bunch of downgraded fools, who are pretty much resting in peace now."

The monk said nothing and continued following the guard who was leading the way. Maintaining his cool, he put aside all possible thoughts of being questioned as the guard pushed open the double doors and ushered them in.

The room was too posh even for political and battle discussions. Thick, exquisite carpet made out of Chimera's mane lay across the floor, covering every inch of it completely. Four mild torches hung at each corner of the wall, providing warm wafts of heat. Even the monk suddenly felt comfort surging through him abruptly, driving away the tension momentarily. The ambience and the light colors of the room somehow executed a soporiferous effect on visitors.

But Tien was not in the mood for indulging in the sheer comfort and the excellent hospitality. A long, oblong table that could easily seat about fifty people sat in the middle of the room. Glasses of wine were already prepared for the expected guests.

The Overlords plunked themselves onto the soft, cushion chair, while the Department Chiefs and the king looked at them uninterestingly. They looked like they were anticipating more guests…

"My lord," Tien greeted politely as possible. "May I inquire our purpose here? If possible, please say your piece quickly so we may take our leave. We have important matters to attend."

"I understand that the battle is fast approaching and you're eager for some kills, young man," the king said. "But we will not start just yet."

Tien brows furrowed.

"What? Do we come here –"

The double doors creaked open again, interrupting the monk's intension to leave. The Overlords stared in disbelieve when a familiar group of people entered. Opium spat his wine out at their sight.

"Greetings, my lord," Cerberus Twinedge spoke.

Smith elbowed Larzen in the ribs and turned to the king.

"My lord, it's about time we take leave for the battle. The horns hardly stop blaring after every sentence!"

King Tristan nodded his approval and the Chiefs quickly ran for their barracks. Apparently Smith was so excited about the battle that he knocked two glasses of wine over when he started his leave, muttering something like "here comes the hobbit!"

The Avenger took the seat opposite their nemesis. Sagi entered a moment later, passing surreptitious glances at his former guild, then took a seat beside Pay. Piffy cleared his throat rudely, expressing his disdain for the Overlords. That, however, did not sit well for the king. He had foreseen that an argument would break out eventually. It is obvious that this time the king must flex his authorities, especially at this point of time.

Opium slammed his palms on the table.

"What's your business here, lad? Here's no place to remedy that bad throat of yours!"

The king, sensing the argument heating up, immediately stood up and banged his fists on the table, his grey beard quivering.

"Enough! I brought both you guilds here for a reason, and it's definitely not to entertain myself by watching you all slit each other's throats!" The king regained his composure, resuming his seat. He heaved a sigh, stroking his beard. His eyes continued to pass menacing glares along the table, warning them to swallow whatever they were going to say. The king downed another glass of honey ale before proceeding.

"Now we start. I am asking you two," he looked at Tien and Cerberus. "I'm asking – No, I'm demanding you two to bury whatever hatchet you have, and join up against the four evil. I have no clue on how and why the four emerged out of sudden, and the final round of guild war of all times!"

Galor, draining his fifth glass of wine, waved his hand.

"Pardon me, my lord. How can we ensure that we don't get backstabbed during the fight?"

Even before the king could speak, menacing growls and crude retorts from the Avenger beat him to it. Piffy almost snapped, but was immediately held back by Cerberus in one reflexive pull. The crusader watched in amusement, especially Skull, who was glaring at him with such intense rage that his whites literally turned blood red.

King Tristan snatched a spear from a guard behind him and brought it down onto the table, the loud 'thud' demanding silence and attention from the two.

"The foul four are drawing nearer, and I'm afraid it had crossed into our city," he spoke softly, but dangerously. "There's already a war outside, that's enough to keep us panicky and busy. I don't wish to witness another war in here, between you two god-damned guilds! I have no choice, but to implement this rule."

A thunderous crash suddenly sounded, signaling the arrival of the four. But the king continued, as if it did not bother him.

"If any of you were to attack each other and exact your own little revenge plot, then I fear you'll face the death sentence. Unless you all co-operate and defend against the four, I'll arrange for these two major guilds to be expelled from Prontera, and never to return again."

Even the impulsive ones knew better than to protest, for the king was dead serious. The two leaders of the guild stood up, staring at each other without any hints of emotion. The cold marble expression showed nothing but grudge and resentment. They saluted each other reluctantly, then proceeded to salute the king, who nodded at the two promising guilds. Yet, Skull crossed his arms and looked away, his head telling him otherwise.

-

-

-

The four demonic knights marched into the Prontera territory, leaving destruction and death in their wake. A couple of guilds, outraged at the collapse of their guild base, confronted the four fruitlessly. Their suicidal attempt brought them at the end of the four's blade tip.

The Lord of Death rode at the front, the rest trudging along with similar intension: to kill.

Poles and pillars fell at the swipes of the four's swords, the capital city now washed with debris and rubble. Their nefarious doings tainted the pure city with a dark aura, the followers of the church hurling imprecations at them, some genuflected before the church, praying for God to bless them and grant them a victory.

The Chiefs returned to their respective forces, yelling commands and plans for the final time. The tension augmented following another series of minor explosions and damaging of more properties. The armies were eager to charge forward and stop the carnage, but the horns for attack had not sounded just yet. They could only watch in misery as more buildings fell, each vowing that they would defend with all their might even though it meant death.

The two warlords stood at the foremost, surveying the Prontera forces, shouting for the Chiefs to rally them, for the charge would begin soon. Smith watched in anticipation as the four were nearing the fountain of Odin from the north, his fingers wrapped and unwrapped around his hammer and axe casually. Larzen pulled his trusted Zweihandler off his back where it was strapped. He held it up before him in a unique fighting stance; for he knew the horns were going to sound any moment.

The blaring of a horn split the air, inciting the war cries of the Prontera army. The mounted knights charged head-on towards the four, the foot soldiers and monks behind them provided backup. The first line of cavalries crashed into the four and fell almost instantly, for the four monstrosities were far too strong as compared even to trained Pecopecos.

However, the mounted knights did not give up just yet. They quickly hurled themselves up their mounts again, hoping to overwhelm the four. The foot soldiers followed soon after, waving their swords and bringing up their shield whenever necessary. Monks who were assigned for supporting purposes cast healing spells on felled knights, at the same time boosting their agility and reflexive capabilities.

More support and spell casting followed at the rear of the army. Groups of acolytes and priests shielded the army against attacks with their magical shell which encompassed them. Acolytes desperately murmured prayers to God, then placed their hands on the injured to heal them of their sufferings.

The clashing of steel against steel rang sharply, biting deep into the eardrums. Lines of army fell at their charge, apparently the magical shield was insufficient to hold off the four's retaliations. Combat monks leaped, smashing their fist into the large demons. The demons merely smote them with their shields and forearms, flinging them back several feet even before their knuckles touched them.

The phantom swordsman, Doppelganger, was one of the main four debilitating the army. What the defenders hit became air, for he was moving at ghostly speed. Their attacks only hit what appeared to be his shadows after his every step. No soldier managed to steal a hit on him. When the swordsman dashed, he practically became a blur with a trail of grayish shadows. One swift slash of his blade felled at least four soldiers, that posing as a major problem for the rapidly-diminishing army. Despite the priests' hasty heals, they could not match up to Doppelganger's speed of massacre.

The Lord of Death reined his steed, pushing him forward. His massive, silver mount trampled on cavalries who regrouped, ultimately stomping both knight and mount to death. His great, silver sword swung ominously over the heads of the receding forces, threatening to sever their heads off their neck. Unfortunately for knights who were unaware, they became hapless victims of the great sword.

Barrage after barrage of arrows rained onto then four, some etched deep into their armor. But most bounced off the hardy armor harmlessly, barely scratching them. Atop the walls hunters squatted in their vantage points, hoping to hinder their siege with their endless shower of arrows.

Occassionally blood splashed onto the armies, not from the hunters from the walls, but from the falcons which clawed the four from overhead. His steed proved to be an advantage in height, as skillful slashes from the Lord of Death brought many down. Deafening screeches escaped from the falcons when they met the massive silver blade.

Smith Hammertop looked behind him after he was flung back when his attack was repelled. He saw the army's morale dropping, the ground piled with more corpse than those who were alive. Fear suddenly gripped him tightly, more for the safety of this city rather than his oncoming death. The warlord had served Prontera for thirty years, and had witnessed victories after victories, surviving every evil that threatened the city. The pessimistic side of him told him that this would be the last time he would see this city, or will he?

The Abyss Knight swung his sword at the warlord's neck, and it swooshed past him when he ducked. Shouting a battle cry, he thrust his hammer towards the ebony knight's chest and smashed his left arm with the axe. The Abyss Knight staggered backwards, his red, fiery eyes gleaming brighter. He leapt onto the warlord, his black sword hanging over his head. Smith sidestepped the downward slash, thrusting his hammer to the knight's chest again, but failed.

The knight smacked the flat side of the blade against his wrist, and the hammer fell from his hands. In one nimble move, he backhanded the stout warlord in the face with an armored fist. Smith sight blurred, the ground suddenly swaying beneath him. Blood poured out from his nose, his white hair strewn in a bloody mess.

He heard the knight approach him, tapping his sword against his thigh with rhythm. Opening his good eye, he saw a blurred image of the ebony knight sheathing his sword, drawing out a black dagger from his belt. Smith felt a hand grabbed him and pulled him nearer to the knight.

"You're finished."

The black dagger was on its way towards the heart of the warlord, then stopped midway. The knight suddenly howled in pain, dropping the dagger. Larzen pulled his Zweihandler off the kidneys of the knight, kicking him aside.

"Men! Retreat to the church!"

Larzen fended off an attack by an approaching Stormy Knight, and screamed his command for the second time. He pulled the unconscious Smith over his shoulders, and ran for the church.

The blacksmiths withdrew pouches of zeny and hurled it at the four evil, exploding into a bright flash of golden light upon contact. The brief distraction allowed the remaining forces to run for the church, even though the Lord of Death was unaffected by the mammonite, since he himself was a large shining apparition.

A handful of blacksmiths aimed their axes and threw it in the silver demon's head, hoping to buy more time for their escape. Their efforts were futile, however, when all their axes were shattered by the blow of the great, silver sword. The blacksmiths who threw axes did not even bother to see the damage. They turned and ran after the rest had made their way safely to the church.

The enraged Lord of Death ordered the chase after the bright golden light receded. The silver steed galloped madly, at a speed no Pecopeco could catch up. The heavy metal hooves thudded against the white marble ground, causing a slight tremor after each landing of the hooves.

Targetting a blacksmith in range, he raised his massive sword for the kill, then stopped abruptly. The other three approached him, just as perplexed as the silver knight was. He tried wielding his sword again, but something held him back. A strong spiritual being or some sort of power was preventing them from further attacks.

"God had answered our prayers!" a few acolytes shouted in exhilaration.

"Indeed! The holiness of the church is holding them back!"

Then it dawned on the four on what was weakening them, immobilizing them. For hundreds of years Prontera had been the city where priests and acolytes carried out tasks and duties in the name of God, and preserving the grand church, the main feature of the city. Prontera had since been the bastion of holiness, where many sought blessings from God.

And because of the hundred years of preserving the church and daily worshipping of God, a purifying, yet strong aura of sacred powers protected the city from countless hazards. Not excluding the four, no matter how formidable they were.

The sacred aura drove the four back, eventually causing the Stormy knight to double over. The Abyss knight fell to the floor on one knee, his hands clutching his head in agony. Apparently, the aura intensified. The blue, storm blade fell from the Stormy knight's hands, clattering onto the floor with sparks flying in all directions. He then fell backwards, letting out a howl that made the heavily battered forces shrank.

"Let's go," Lord of Death managed a growl.

The silver knight waved his blade, and a warp portal formed. The four leaped into the portal quickly, to evade the growing powers emanating from the grand church. However, the army had no time to celebrate. After the portal closed, mobs of the four's spawns materialized and started their attack without delay.


	12. Showdown: Skull vs Galor

12

Both guilds came out just in time to see the four demonic knights escape through the portal, leaving behind their trademark mobs.

Groups of nightmares, zombies and goblins hurtled towards the astounded forces of Prontera, colliding into them while they were still in a state of shock. Larzen and Smith hollered the army into action. Both warlords had wanted to regroup before attacking, however, the attack was too sudden to even plan anything. The demons gained an upper-hand, cutting through the scattered groups of knights. The Prontera army, especially the priests, was baffled by the fact that the sacred aura did nothing to drive the demons back. The aura could thoroughly weaken the four great demonic knights, but why not these insignificant minions?

The Avenger wasted no time. The group ran past the Overlords, heading northwards to even the odds. Suddenly, the army countered with renewed strength. Their numerous wounds and gashes, loss of blood did not seem to hinder their fierce fight. Larzen looked over to spot the source spurring the injured forces on.

Sure enough, the renowned Avenger ran forward into the mob of demons, much to their relieve. More war cries echoed the heavily damaged streets, and they fought ever more fiercely.

Cerberus unsheathed both blades during his charge and sliced the first goblin upon contact. Blood spewed from the goblin's chest wound, then it fell limp. The Fireblend and Ice Falchion worked furiously, opening up wounds and severing limbs off the demons. A zombie swung its fist at the knight, and it was detached from the wrist almost instantly when the Fireblend struck it. A mix of black and red blood stained the knight's face and his skin in between the armor gaps. Pausing to look at the situation, he saw Smith grinning at him, the warlord coated in the same mix of black and red blood.

As if to boast the powers of his two swords, he held it up in a criss-cross fashion, then swung downwards in an arc. Bolts of flames and hoarfrost ejected from the swords, raining over the mobs, causing them to howl in pain before death claimed their lives.

"Surround them! They're dying fast!" Smith yelled.

Pay stayed away, but in range of the ongoing battle. Fitting two oridecon arrows to his Arbalest, he let loose it. Both oridecon-tipped arrows etched deep into a zombie's skull, killing it instantly. The hunter watched the battle for a little while before withdrawing arrows from another quiver. Realizing that most of them had no elemental enchanted weapons, they could not touch the ghostly horses even if they were to hit it a million times.

He notched silver arrows onto his bow, then fired without stopping. The holy enchanted arrows struck true, felling more horses, taking the situation under control. A group of four nightmares suddenly dissipated when a series of silver bolts flew. Spinning around, Pay saw a gorgeous huntress standing behind where he was, preparing to fire another series of silver bolts from her magnificent ballista.

The hunter found himself staring at the huntress, her flawless face.

"Huh? Where'd you get that?"

"What? This?" she said, holding up her crossbow.

He finally plucked his eyes off her face, then went to inspect the ballista.

"Err… Yeah. The only way to get it is to kill the Dark Lord, which many find impossible. How'd you do that?"

The huntress flashed him a mischievous grin and brushed aside a stray lock of blonde hair.

"That's for you to find out."

Turning back to the battle, she fired another series of four silver bolts, eliminating four more nightmares tightly grouped together.

"Oh, by the way," she said, assuming a seductive pose. "Name's Elemire. What's your's?"

Pay swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the battle.

"Yes I know. You're from the Overlords."

"You haven't answered my question, you sweet little thing," she replied, putting an arm around the hunter.

Pay, suddenly remembering that she was from the Overlords, decided to avoid further contact with her. He removed her arm from him, firing a silver arrow at a nearby nightmare.

"Don't fool around, Elemire. Or else I'll turn nasty."

The huntress giggled to herself as she watched Pay leave for another vantage point. Fitting a silver bolts to her ballista, she released it, the bolt striking a nightmare in between the eyes, dissipating it.

The Overlords, too, had participated in the battle, raising the morale of the troops further. All the nightmares had dissipated, all work of Pay and the huntress, Elemire. Only a few scores of goblins and zombies remained, and they were being wiped out quickly.

An unexpected swipe of katars slew two goblins decapitating it. The red-tipped Infiltrators danced at shadowy speed, leaving disembodied limbs in its wake. Skull leaped out from the walls, stabbing a zombie deep in its gut. Withdrawing his right katar as quick as he stabbed the zombie, he plunged it into another zombie's face, punching a hole in it. The left katar cut off a goblin's axe-arm, and it went for the heart of the goblin.

But before the left katar hit, the blade of an Excalibur impaled through the chest from behind. A gauntleted hand grabbed the corpse by the head and flung it away, revealing the face of Galor.

Skull felt his temper get the better of him. Clenching his teeth together, he sheathed his katars away to control himself. Revenge must be taken against this man, but not now. Not at this point of time. Not when his life was concerned. Making up his mind to avenge his sister some other time after this battle, the assassin turned to leave, but stopped when the crusader spoke up.

"Turning your back on me, _Immuonnas_? Afraid that you might snap and get executed? Oh, how saddening will that be for your pretty priestess friend there," he mocked, directing his gaze at Manald, who was chanting spells to ward off attacks from the undead zombies. "I don't see why she's caring so much for a worthless being, but I must admit though, she looks cute. Might look even better than Inneavil after she's undressed…"

"Don't you dare lay your hands on her, Galor," he whispered in a murderous tone, whipping out his Infiltrators.

Skull leaped onto the crusader, hoping to launch a pre-emptive strike, catching him off guard. But Galor had already expected this. He brought his Excalibur up, fending off the assassin's right katar. Slashing the blade sideways, he wanted to aim for Skull's shoulder, but the assassin had already vanished.

Galor fell as soon as he whipped around, Skull tackling his knees. The enraged assassin, reminded of his sister, completely lost control over himself, letting the accumulated fury take over him. He slashed downwards towards the skull of Galor, but was deflected by the Excalibur raised horizontally above the crusader. Galor got back to his feet, just in time to fend off another attack targeted at his ribs.

Kicking aside a dead goblin, Skull advanced again, lashing out his left katar in a fake attack. Galor fell for the ruse and brought up his shield, but the attack never came. It was too late by the time he realized it. Skull sliced his shield arm with his right katar, drawing a deep gash along the forearm. Dropping the shield in pain, he sidestepped when a katar flew his way. Wincing in the searing pain from the forearm wound, he knew he was done for. The acute, biting pain made him realized that the assassin's katars were tipped with venom, the numbness in his arm confirming his thoughts.

He made a weak attempt to stab Skull squarely in the chest, only to have his sword arm trapped in an arm-lock. A fist slugged him in the jaw, loosening a tooth. The Excalibur clattered onto the floor when Skull applied more pressure on the arm, then swung his foot in Galor's abdomen. The kick sent Galor falling onto his side, the crusader clutching his stomach and writhed. Blood from the broken tooth dripped down his chin, the man lying semi-consciously.

"No! Skull, stop!"

Skull looked up when his katars were about to bury deep into the crusader's chest. He recognized the voice, even in his state of fury. Manald's voice, firm yet pleasant, suddenly jolted him from his uncontrollable state, vapourizing a portion of his fury.

His head throbbed painfully, the excruciating headache almost desecrating his brains. Each throb made him writhe on the floor in agony, his breaths coming out in strangled cries. He extracted the Infiltrators off his forcefully, his fingers blistered from it. The assassin made an effort to crawl up, but his body won't budge, the pain in his head commanding him to stay down.

He tugged at his silver hair as his vision dimmed slightly. The world seemed to rotate and spun around him, the earth seemed to ripple. For some reason, images of his sister flashed through his mind, calling to him.

"Inneavil… Sister…"

A hand tilted his head up, another hand shook him.

"What happened? Wake up Skull, I'm Manald, not your sister."

Skull opened his eyes slowly, and looked into the face of the priestess.

"I… Ugh… My head hurts."

He felt a soft, reassuring hand touch his forehead, a soft refreshing breeze blowing his face. The pain began to recede slowly as the cool breeze rushed mildly past him, rejuvenating him. Feeling his consciousness restored back to him, he sat up and retrieved his Infiltrators.

"Wh… What are you doing here?"

"I had to! What were you doing fighting with Galor!? You're going to be expelled or executed if seen!" Manald said worriedly.

What the priestess said reminded Skull of his fight with Galor. Scanning the area, he saw Galor still lying semi-conscious, two knights and a monk trying to sober him up. The monk fixed his stare on him, a nasty snarl on his face.

"You're over, Skull. The king said no turning against each other! This is it."

Tien commanded the two knights to support the unsteady crusader, then returned to the battle. Manald then helped him up, bringing him away from the battle.

"Why are you so stubborn? You heard the king himself! He meant serious business!" Manald snapped.

Skull remained silent, his right hand pressed against his forehead. His head started to hurt again, when Galor's words reverberated in his head.

'_I don't see why she's caring so much for a worthless being, but I must admit though, she looks cute. Might look better than Inneavil if she's undressed…'_

His temples started throbbing at a faster pace, making him feel nauseous. The vertigo caused him to push Manald away, the priestess landing roughly, her arm scraped against the broken weapons and debris from damaged properties. Blood flowed out from the fresh wound, the priestess bewildered at Skull's strange behavior. Fuming, she stood up and ran for the church to seek treatment. 'You don't have to push me if you don't need my help,' she thought angrily as she ran.

-

-

-

"Go on, this is your chance for redemption."

"What?" the crusader said, his head still dizzy.

"This is a good opportunity. Look, he lost his focus. He's in pain. Just sneak behind him and make it a quick one."

"The king forbade this!"

"We'll cover up for you. Besides, I've got bribes. Get going."

The crusader picked up the Excalibur, then nodded confidently at the monk.

-

-

-

Manald ran past the battle, then into the church. Immersed in her thoughts, she did not realize a priest standing by the door, and knocked into him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you, Tesse," the priestess apologized with embarrassment.

"Ahh, no problem. You look distracted," the priest smiled widely.

Manald walked down the red-carpeted hall, and took a seat at a bench. The priest, by the name of Tesse, followed behind and sat beside her. He stopped smiling when he noticed her blood stained robes, which led his gaze to her injured arm. He reached out and took her arm, his brows furrowed.

"What happened? Who did this?"

She withdrew her bleeding arm from Tesse's hands, then thought of a quick lie.

"A goblin. Don't worry, Tesse, its nothing serious," she said, managing a smile.

Tesse sighed deeply and crossed his arms.

"Actually, you don't have to cover for him. I saw everything out there. I suggest you cut down on your contact with him, he has a disordered state of mind!"

"I'm worried for him, Tesse. Because of his sister's death, he loses control over himself when he sees Galor."

Manald, well aware that her admirer was jealous of Skull, turned to leave but a hand held her back.

"At least let me heal that wound of your's," Tesse offered.

"Nah, I can handle it myself. Thanks anyway, God bless you."

With that said, she strode off to her chamber.

'Why do you defend him? He's an assassin! A sinister being!' the sullen priest thought.

-

-

-

The chants continued for a moment longer, then stopped. The wizard wearing black robes shot his fingers out, bolts of lightning electrocuting his targets. Six goblins fell just from that series of lightning bolts, their charred corpse producing a pungent smell. Sagizeulus chanted again, this time in a lower tone. Stone spikes ejected from the earth, impaling a few zombies and sent a couple of goblins flying in the air.

'_How could they made their escape!? Did you seal them up properly? Or you could not bear to see them die?'_

The incantations grew faster, and more magical bolts destroyed the mobs of demonic spawns.

'_If they don't die, you shall.'_

Sweat poured down his pale cheeks as he waggled his fingers furiously. Globes of electricity surrounded the demons, the force of the magic blasting them back quite a distance.

'_You had better think of something else, mister wizard. You got us into this, by hook or by crook, you will wipe them off the face of Rune-Midgard.'_

Sagi crumbled onto the floor, exhausted from the spells he cast. The spells had sucked out a large portion of his energy, leaving him in a distraught state. He thought back to what the Overlords told him before they left for the battle, which loaded mass amount of troubles into him. Wiping off sweat with his sleeve, he tried standing up, but deprivation of energy made his legs wobbly.

"For goodness sake, stay where you are!"

Nimmber ran over to the wizard, offering assistance. But the wizard dismissed it with a wave of his hand, telling her to return to the battle.

"Watch out!" Sagi shouted when a goblin snuck up behind the rogue. Sensing immediate danger, she wanted to hide, but that would take a while, leaving her vulnerable for attack.

The wizard, mustering up the last of his energies, trapped the goblin in a case of ice. Feeling his heart wrenched and twisted from over-casting spells beyond his limitations, he collapsed. Whipping out her zeny knife, Nimmber plunged it into the skull of the frozen goblin.

"Hey don't die out here man… even though I know you're the culprit of the ice walls. Nobody believes my tale though. But anyway, thanks for saving my life."

-

-

-

'_You worthless being.'_

'_Might look better than Inneavil after she's undressed.'_

Those words rang in repetition through the assassin's mind, driving him into a state of fury again. Ignoring the pain in his head, he scrambled about, desperately looking for Galor. But the crusader was nowhere to be found. Everywhere around him were piles of goblins corpse, ashes from dissipated nightmares.

"Come on out!"

He cried out, but no sound came out. His vision blurred once again, every figure he saw was just a mere grey shade. The world spun continuously, the landscape looked as if it shifted. Everywhere became red, the once white cobbled streets, the buildings, the skies, everything was red. There was only one thing in his mind, to find and kill Galor. His sister's image and voice assailed him, sending him into a frenzy.

"Come on out!" he screamed again, but it sounded muffled.

He ran forward, plunging his right katar into one unfortunate goblin in his way. The force was so immense that the head flew off it's neck and the body split into half. Then, he saw a figure pointing and running towards him.

'Galor! You're finally here! Come on!" his head screamed silently.

Pay saw the ambush and made a dash his assassin guild mate. He pointed behind Skull to warn him of the danger, but he did not seem to listen. Knowing that he would not reach there in time, he raised his bow, aiming for the fast advancing figure behind Skull. However, before he released the bowstring though, Skull emerged right in front of him, swiping away the Arbalest.

"Die, Galor!"

Swinging his Infiltrators for the kill, something sharp and powerful plunged deep into his back and through his gut, stopping the killing move. Pay fell back and stared in disbelieve and horror as Galor's Excalibur was buried into the assassin's body, the garment soon painted red all over. The crusader sneered as he prepared for a second stab, but an arrow whizzed past and struck the sword.

The force sent the blade flying away from the crusader's hands. Pay readied another arrow aimed at the crusader's heart, warning him not to advance any further. The hunter expected Skull to fall, instead, a swift spin and a leap brought him within striking range of Galor. He swung his right arm with such a speed that could match those of the Doppelganger, and that was all he needed. The slice of the right katar went through the armor and bit deep into the flesh, drawing a deep wound that extended from Galor's right shoulder all the way to his heart.

The armor broke and fell off the crusader's body, the white tights underneath it now completely red. The hideous wound had blood spurting everywhere, the assassin's face a mask of crimson. Pay stared open-mouthed, his hands trembling from the sight. He could have sworn that the cut was so deep that he saw the bones.

Galor made no noise. His eyes closed, and he fell. Tien and his guild, except for Elemire, ran to the scene in time to see the crusader fall. Tien turned the body around, putting a finger beneath his nose.

"He's dead…"

Most of the army had already crowded around the scene, a hot discussion rising among them, saying that Skull was the murderer. The bribes of Tien confirmed their speculations, driving at the point that he was to be executed and the king must be informed.

Skull lay a few meters from the corpse, unconscious from the loss of blood. The battle was over, the Prontera knights slaying the last score of goblins. Cerberus was the first of the Avenger to be informed of this. He broke past the crowd and tended to Skull, a pool of blood around him. The fringe of his silver hair was stained with his own and Galor's blood.

"Pay, what happened?" Cerberus asked in bewilderment.

The hunter shifted his stare to Cerberus, maintaining the same expression.

"He… err… he was…"

"What!?"

"He did it to defend himself. Skull was innocent! Galor attacked him first!"

"Damn! Go get the rest."

Pay nodded and ran, looking for the rest of the Avenger.


	13. Dark Plots

13

The deepening of the evening made them glow with unholiness. The deep purple sky was overcast, an indication that rain was going to fall.

The creamies that had traversed around the hills earlier disappeared mysteriously, following the unexpected arrival of the aristocratic demons. The four stepped out of the portal, and what greeted them were towering hills and mountains. A small stream ran quietly to the east, with a few pupas scattered around it.

A light drizzle descended, the sky growing darker. The Stormy Knight sat down, still weak from the earlier blast of holy energy. He grumbled about leaving his sword behind, and now he was weaponless. The Abyss Knight silenced him while the Lord of Death circumnavigated within the radius of about a hundred yards, the massive silver mount sniffing the ground as if to detect their surroundings.

"There's only one place piled with hills and mountains. Now these puny gnats had further confirmed my hunch, I believe we're in Mjolnir premises," Stormy Knight said.

"Oh, have you only realized it now?" Doppelganger replied with a tone of mockery.

The Abyss Knight turned to the two.

"So what if we are in Mjolnir? We need to find our exact location, damn it."

The ebony knight clasped his palm over his gut wound, walking with a hunch.

"Ugh… That cursed commander," he croaked. "You've got the audacity to sneak from behind."

Doppelganger sighed and chopped the grass with his scimitar.

"That horse of yours could've saved you with a back kick or something, yet you butchered him alive. You look kinda pathetic without it, if you don't mind."

"I did not want Urten to become a burden."

"But still…"

The Lord of Death returned and stuck his massive blade into the earth loudly, quieting down the other three. He dismounted his horse, and it nuzzled against his face.

"Now we move east. Silver says we're pretty much at the far north west of Mjolnir. We make a short trip to the east, where therein lies a pit for us to seek shelter."

"A lousy pit!? How degrading for us!" Doppelganger exclaimed. "To think that we used to live in the monumental caverns in our world!"

The Lord of Death swung himself over Silver, taking the reins in his hands.

"Enough said. Move."

"I've got no weapon! My storm blade…" Stormy Knight complained, thinking wistfully of his trusted sword.

"Here, take this," Doppelganger said as he tossed the blue knight a flimsy branch.

-

-

-

The smaller demons in the pit sensed an immense power even from a distance. They could not be wrong, that kind of power can only belong to the superiors. They started scampering into crack and holes, the others migrating to other habitats. And for just that fateful evening, the pit was free of demons, and it was unusually silent.

The four crossed the stream and reached the outskirts of Mount Mjolnir. Tall grasses and thick trees surrounded the area, the crowns rustling noisily with the increasing gale. The night came, with raindrops splattering over them. They crossed another series of thick bushes, and a muddy path came into view.

Broken tracks lay across the path, the demons who were escaping hid among the grasses to avoid being discovered. The Lord of Death stared at the entrance of the foul pit, estimating that it was too small. He and Silver might not be able to squeeze through it.

"Indeed… just a pathetic hive for puny demons," the silver knight murmured.

He extracted his foot from the saddle and dismounted, patting Silver on his head. Slapping his steed hard, he spoke a sharp command. The giant silver steed crouched and neighed, preparing for the charge. Silver galloped madly towards the entrance, and crashed into it. The entrance widened, bricks and sand smashing onto the muddy path, forming a threshold made of rubble.

The four made their way into the deepest region of the pit, the Doppelganger scouting ahead for possible dangers, even though it was highly unlikely there was any in this minor pit.

"We'll camp here," the Lord of Death said when they entered the largest chamber of the pit.

"Damn, this place stinks of drainliar 'productions'," Doppelganger complained, blocking his nostrils with his index finger.

"Quit your whines, swordie. Ain't I ignoring the smell?" Stormy Knight said.

The phantom swordsman glared at the blue knight

"Of course you can bear with the smell, since your excretions smell worse than this tenfold! Anyway, I might quit my 'whining' if you stop complaining about your loss."

The blue knight clenched his fist, snarling at the swordsman. Spotting a drainliar flying about, he snatched it and shoved it into his mouth. The red wings of the drainliar beat furiously, then stopped. Black blood dripped down the blue knight's chin, the crunching noise making Doppelganger cringe. The Abyss Knight planted his black sword into the muddy ground.

"We shall begin…"

The two stopped their squabbles and looked at the ebony knight. Doppelganger was the first to speak.

"Begin what?"

"Aren't you humiliated?" the Lord of Death spoke after tying up Silver. "Us, being the superior of all demons, actually escaped at the mere power of the church."

"The feeling is mutual, Death. We're affected by it, yet our minions are not," Stormy Knight said.

"Come to think about it, that's going to wreck my brains for a while," Doppelganger pondered.

"The sacred powers of the church are not unlimited," Abyss Knight said. "It has to fade somehow."

The great silver knight looked into the small torch at the corner of the chamber.

"A great amount of that power must have been diminished. I believe that was sacrificed to drive us out, leaving a tiny morsel which did not affect our minions much. However," Lord of Death paused. "However, we still must not underestimate it. The hundred years of preserving… that's a very long time. Even though the sacred powers had shrunk, it will soon be restored."

The Abyss Knight removed his helm and placed it beside his sword.

"If what you said is true, then we have to crush the church and destroy the holy aura once and for all. Prontera will then be vulnerable."

"Exactly. Crush the church, and leave those fools to pray for naught. Nobody will answer their pleas and cries."

"I've not failed once, until today. I must seek justice to it," Doppelganger clenched his fist.

The Stormy Knight waved his hands.

"Before I can do anything, I need a sturdy weapon. I can do nothing more with this shield than squishing ants in the Ant Hell!"

The Abyss Knight, apparently irritated by the blue knight's complains, tossed his a black dagger from his belt.

"What!? Are you giving me this to slice drainliars into strips before eating them?"

"I'm not giving you, I'm _lending_ you. Use this till you find a better weapon."

The agitated Stormy Knight was about to protest, but the Lord of Death cut him short.

"We will not barge into Prontera just like that. We must formulate a plan."

Doppelganger raised a brow.

"You have something in mind?"

"What's the nearest town from here?"

"Hmm… Glast Heim? Why don't we make that place our main camp? I'm sure it doesn't smell so bad!"

"No, I've already considered this option, and no. We'll be trespassing the premises of the Dark Lord and Baphomet. We cannot afford to offend any other superiors, for it will hinder our plans without a doubt."

"Think of it this way. Four of us outnumber the two clumsy sasquatches. What's more, they share the Intelligence Trait. If we kill them, we'll possess the Intelligence Trait and imagine how strong our magic will become!"

The Lord of Death was deep in thought for a while, the great silver knight breathing stentoriously.

"If not for the pact, I would have approved of your plan, Doppelganger. Each and every superior will guard their own place, and stay out of trouble. Not to mention, attacking each other. Its just like me guarding the city of the dead, Niflheim and you guarding the Geffen Guild Dungeon."

"You not wrong, Death. The other superiors might start a war with us," the Abyss Knight suggested.

"But in order to destroy Prontera, there would be a need to strengthen ourselves. And to do that quick and easy, the Traits will prove very useful," Stormy Knight said spoke in between bites of another unfortunate drainliar.

Doppelganger nodded in agreement, even though he was rather disgusted with the black blood smeared over the blue knight's mouth.

"Storm's right, strengthening ourselves is necessary. We don't have to attack the Dark Lord and Baphomet directly. We can sour their relationship through sabotage, and both of them will be after each other's neck for the other half of the Intelligence Trait."

The Abyss Knight's face suddenly lit up.

"Besides Glast Heim, another city nearest to us is Geffen, the city of magic."

"Yeah, what about the town?" Doppelganger asked without interest.

"Its not the town, it's the orcs. If we were to get hold of the Intelligence Trait, why not the Strength Trait? The Orc Lord possesses the Strength Trait, so we can assassinate him. The orc camp is due south of Geffen. We can attack Geffen to rid of unnecessary hindrance, then we go for Orc Lord."

The Lord of Death crossed his arms over his powerful chest.

"The orcs are rather inflexible. If their leader is gone, they'll go berserk and be at their wits end. Just when they are desperate, we would take over them and command the orc forces to invade Prontera. If successful, we'll be killing two birds with one stone."

"The orcs alone might not be enough to break down the church," the ebony knight pointed out.

Patting his own chest confidently, Doppelganger sneered. "Leave the church to me."

The other three passed doubtful looks at the phantom swordsman. The Lord of Death walked over to where Silver was tied.

"Just before dawn breaks, we'll set out for Geffen."


	14. Sorrowful memories

14

"_Sister..."_

"_Yes, nas?"_

"_I wanna buy that mantle. My cotton shirt is worn out."_

_The priestess smiled at him sweetly._

"_Sure, nas, if that pleases you."_

_The priestess took out her zeny pouch, and counted ten-thousand zeny. She passed the merchant the coins, and she gave the new mantle to her brother, whom she called 'nas'._

_The little boy squealed in joy, giving his sister a hug._

"_Thank you!"_

_The priestess tousled his hair playfully, then held his hand as they walked away._

A silver haired man tossed and turned in the stack of hay in the prison, murmuring incoherently. His garment was stained with blood, as of his face, which had lines of dried blood marring it. He spoke unintelligently again, writhing furiously.

_The boy, about eleven years old, stood outside the "Night-Star", a tavern located near e west of Prontera. He trembled as the chill wind blew strongly, and because of drunk men staggering near him. He peeked into the tavern, scanning for a priestess. He spotted a familiar white-robed female standing beside a tall man, tugging at his arm. He recognized at once that the female was his sister._

_Before the man stood three unfriendly looking men, each of them had a knife in their hands. One of the three shouted angrily at the tall crusader his sister was tugging at, waving his knife dangerously. The crusader shouted something back and made crude gestures at the three, springing them into rage. One of them took a beer bottle, lashing it out at the crusader's head. _

_Before the hit connected, the priestess stepped protectively over the crusader, the bottle smashing her skull. The boy watched in horror, tears forming in his eyes. He saw his sister bled from a hideous head wound, lying unconscious on the floor. He screamed for his sister, charging into the tavern. The three men said something about escaping, then fled quickly. The boy looked hatefully at the crusader, who merely said, "It's not my fault, she chose to die for me."_

"_Nas" jumped at the crusader, raking his eyes with his nails. The tall man stumbled backwards, clutching the injured eye. "Nas" wanted to jump at the man again, the next thing he knew, a booted foot kicked him hard in the stomach, sending his crashing through a table. _

_After the frustrated man left, "Nas" knelt beside his sister, bawling his eyes out. Tears rolled unchecked down his cheek, hoping against hope that his sister would survive. _

"_Wake up, sister! Wake up! Don't leave me all alone…who's going to take care of me? Who's going to buy me more garments? Don't die, sister…"_

The pain in his gut wound jolted him from the nightmare. His hands went involuntarily to the wound, groaning in misery. The wound had only been crudely treated and bandaged, the prickling feeling from the hay surface made him uncomfortable, aggravating the wound.

He sat up with effort, his mind still fuzzy from the nightmare. It was dark, the only thing he saw were bars. He crawled towards it, examined with his bleary eyes. Only then, he realized that he was locked up. Locked up in prison. There was only a very dim illumination, the source coming from a far away torch hung on the wall.

The assassin felt helpless, something he rarely felt since the death of his sister. Recalling the dream, the man in it made him realized the reason he was jailed. During the battle earlier he slew Galor, the crusader who wounded him from behind when he was oblivious. He moaned again when blood suddenly spewed out of the wound, wetting the hay with the red liquid. Everywhere was dark, limiting his sight. He did not know how big the prison is, where the corridor was. The headache came again, wrecking his temples and a burning sensation coalesced in his brain.

He screamed as pain from the wound and his head intensified, driving him into oblivion. An exasperated guard woke up with a start, cursing the assassin for making a din in the middle of the night. The guard approached Skull's cell, then unlocked it. Producing a whip, he flogged the assassin on the back, tearing away the garment. Raw wounds formed on his back, but the assassin did not feel any pain, for he was completely delirious.

-

-

-

Pay tossed and turned, unable to catch some sleep. He sat up, sighing heavily. Images of the duel between Skull and Galor flashed, depriving him of rest. But the main cause for his insomnia was the fact that Skull would be executed early tomorrow, for the king flew into rage when informed of this incident.

Just after the rest of the Avenger came to the bloody scene, the king's high officers came to take the assassin away, dragging him into prison. Tien stood amidst the crowd, guffawing away with his guild mates. Cerberus had wanted to stop the high officers, but doing so would commit the crime of barring the king's officers from doing their duties.

A creak behind him alerted him, reaching for his Arbalest instinctively. Nocking an arrow, he aimed at the window which was sliding open slowly.

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

"Hey drop that bow, Sky! It's me!"

"Huh?"

The hunter looked closely as a lithe figure climbed through the window without the slightest noise, then closed the window.

"Lea?"

"Yup, and I thought your trained eyes could see in the dark," the female rogue replied.

The hunter made a quick apology and went back to sleep. Maraulea sat beside the hunter, observing him.

"Can't sleep?"

Pay sat up again, an unusual sullen look crossed his face.

"I doubt the rest can."

"You're right," the rogue said, pointing her finger to the other side of Piffy's house. "Cerberus's havin' a hard time sleeping too. I wish I could do something to stop tomorrow's execution."

"I could've stopped him by immobilizing his arm or something. I'm really worried for him."

Maraulea sighed, playing with her fringe. She sat cross-legged, staring out into the night.

"I've advised him countless times, yet he just doesn't correct his habit of acting rashly. Now, he's really in deep soup."

"Where did you go?"

"The church. Had to accompany the poor girl, she's not eating nor resting, just weeping. A priest, Test, wait a minute. Was it Tezzee? Teree? Oh never mind, that priest just got her to sleep with some spell."

"It's Tesse," the hunter corrected.

"Oh yeah. You know him?"

"Why not? Everyone knows him, the biggest admirer of Manald."

The rogue managed a smile.

"She keeps saying it's her fault, that she could have stopped him. But she ran away instead, after she was pushed away. Hey, do you think she likes Immuonnas?"

"Now's not the time to talk about these," Pay said, his brows creased together in a frown

Piffy's bedroom door creaked open, the alchemist briefly surprised at a figure sitting beside Pay.

"Who's there?"

"It's Lea," Pay said.

"Oh it's you, lass. What are you doing here?"

Maraulea started to reply, but a hoarse voice cut her short.

"Huh? What's the noise? I was just beginning to fall asleep."

Cerberus sat up, then cleared his throat. He lit a torch laid beside him, then hung it on the wall.

"You all are up?"

"How could you sleep at this juncture?" Pay said, his voice growing louder.

"Shh! You're going to wake the neighbors!" Maraulea exclaimed.

Cerberus heaved a sigh and went over to where the three sat.

"It's still dark. Where's the rest?"

"Manald's resting at the church, that wizard's there too. He's pretty dead from overdoing it," Piffy answered.

Maraulea snorted.

"Who knows he's with the darn Overlords now. Well, at _least_ he saved my life."

"That don't matter now. I was thinking if we could get Skull to escape…"

"Wake up your idea, Sky!" Maraulea addressed the hunter by his last name. "You'll get executed after him!"

"I don't care. I believe he's innocent. He was stuck from behind by Galor! If it was anyone else, I'm sure he or she would have retaliated. Don't forget that man was responsible for his sister's death."

"Looks like I've failed as a leader," Cerberus said, his head hung low in despondency. "If anyone was to be responsible for this, it would be the leader. Being one, I have to lead and look out for the rest. Seems like I've failed to fulfill the latter. I should have paid more attention to him, knowing that his temper would eventually get him into nothing but trouble."

"Come on lad, leaders are not immortals. They still have flaws. I think you've done a good job so far, ya'know? I'm thinking we might be heading for the king and have a good talk," Piffy said, patting Cerberus on his shoulders.

"You're just wasting your time! Did you not hear the king himself? Unless pickies fly, you can't talk the king out of it!" Pay argued.

"Maybe he's right," Cerberus spoke thoughtfully. "Even if the king had second thoughts, Tien and his guild would definitely persuade him no matter what. You've seen it, they formed an alliance during the guild wars. They might get bribes to back them up. Anyway, its getting rather late. We'll play by ear. Let's get some rest before dawn breaks."

-

-

-

The day was arriving, and the guards were already up, distributing sustenance to each cell. The same guard who had whipped a prisoner at the last cell of the row was on duty today.

He reached the last cell, the last set of sustenance in his hands. There was a bottle of water and a loaf of bread. The guard detached a ring of keys from his belt, unlocking the cell door with a loud click. He looked scornfully at the assassin, still maintaining the same pose of slumber since just now. The raw wounds stopped bleeding, but the bandage wrapping around his gut fell off.

"You useless cow dung… disturbing my sleep with your moans."

The guard looked scornfully at the helpless assassin, then dumped the sustenance on the face of the unconscious man.

"I shouldn't let you off so easily."

He took the bottle of water, uncorked it, and splashed it over the assassin's raw wound, before pouring it over his face. Taking the loaf of bread in his hands, he spat on it, and shoved it into the prisoner's mouth. The guard laughed uproariously at the man's humiliated state as he amused himself by holding the man's head up, slapping his face repeatedly.

The laugh was cut short abruptly, when the guard felt something sharp shot into his chest and withdrew very quickly, punching a hole in his heart. Skull glared at the guard, his right katar stained with the guard's blood.

The assassin delayed no more. He opened the unlocked cell door, and ran down the corridor. Ignoring the pain from the numerous wounds, he cloaked himself into the wall when another guard passed by, walking down to the end of the row. He knew he had to find an escape route quickly, for the alarm would sound soon.

He uncloaked himself, dashing past the rows of cells. Other prisoners stopped munching their given food and pleaded the escaped prisoner to release them. Some shouted in alarm, alerting a few guards still distributing food. Skull did not panic when he reached the guard's room, for he knew that all of them were either on patrolling duty or distributing breakfast.

Skull went into the guard's quarters, inspecting the room for possible means of escape. A window for ventilation at the top of the wall gave him the idea. He leaped onto a table to reach the small window, wincing when a sudden pain erupted in his gut wound. Apparently the first guard who passed him by spotted the dead guard, for an alarm rang loudly, signaling the escape of a prisoner.

His fingers worked furiously, even though he was very weak. The guards would soon return to collect the necessary weapon to hunt the escapee down. Since the latch won't budge, he plunged the katar into the glass window, smashing it into smithereens. He heaved himself through the window and landed on a grassy ground. Another series of pain assailed him again, causing him to double over and was forced to crawl.

Footsteps and heated argument from the guards above made the assassin gather himself up and ran. A thought crossed his mind, making him stop running. No matter how far he ran, which he doubt would be very far due to his injury, the guards would discover the broken window and he would be in sight. He cloaked into the wall just in time when two heads popped out of the broken window, zooming around for the culprit which was likely the escapee.

When the two heads shrank back, Skull stepped out of the wall and ran as far as his weak body would take him.


	15. Separate ways

15

It was just another day when Astilous and his group of four friends carried out their routine training at the Geffen fields. They had just been promoted to Magehood, the five of them wielding their new staff ostentatiously, sending waves of magic to willows and fabres.

They cheered and laughed when a creamy came by and got tortured at their hands. The fun continued for a while until Astilous screamed, instantly stopping the girth. The oldest among the group, he pointed a shaky finger at something large not far away. His friends gave similar reactions, ranging from wide-eyed stares to giddiness from fear.

"Run!" Astilous finally found his voice.

However, before they reached the city, the large apparitions caught up with the five and had them surrounded. Other novices training in the vicinity dropped their knives and ran for the city, spreading the news of the arrival of some monstrosity.

Astilous's legs went wobbly and he fell on his knees, pleading for mercy. The rest, except one who passed out, fell on their knees and started begging the four humanoid knights to let them off. Supposedly the strongest among the four, a silver knight astride a massive silver steed brandished his great sword and signaled for the other three to finish the job quick. The great silver sword went right through Astilous's chest and into another of his friend's. The long blade pierced through the heart of two at one time, killing them instantly.

The Stormy Knight whipped out a black dagger Abyss Knight had loaned him. He smote his round shield into the face of one, then stabbed the passed out mage. The last person remaining tried to escape, but the Doppelganger was already ahead of him. The young mage knelt before the phantom swordsman, crying and tugging at his leg. But before Doppelganger could say anything, a black sword belonging to the Abyss Knight impaled the mage from behind, and the young boy fell limb.

-

-

-

The priestess woke up with sweat rolling down her cheeks. She recalled the nightmare she had earlier, and she could not help shuddering. She turned and saw Tesse looking in anxiously.

"Come in," she said rather inaudibly.

The priest heard it nonetheless. He strode into the room briskly, tending to the pale priestess.

"What ails you? Shall I –"

"I'm fine, Tesse. It's just that I had a nightmare. It was so horrible..." Manald interrupted.

"Wanna share it?" Tesse said, wiping sweat off her forehead with a cloth. "You might not feel so tensed up after that."

"I'm really feeling fine. As one of the main priest in this church, you should not waste your time on me. The others need help."

Tesse sighed, helping the priestess lean higher on her bed.

"If you insist, I shall take my leave. May god bless you."

The nightmare continued to linger in the priestess's thoughts, increasing her worry for the imprisoned assassin.

Before her stood the Lord of Death, the great silver sword hanging over her dangerously, which would come down and kill her in one blow anytime. She realized she was in the Sbanhealt castle base, in the spacious hall. Behind the large silver knight stood Doppelganger, Stormy Knight and Abyss Knight, who still had his horse.

"_Die, mortal!"_

_The bright sword swung down, but strong arms pushed her away from the strike, Turning to see her savior, she found him lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The Lord of Death's blade struck Skull instead, the assassin jerking spasmodically. She heard him shouting for her to run as far as she could, but she just would not move. She could only sit there and watch her guild mate die slowly and painfully. _

_The Abyss Knight came forward, raising his black sword over the bloody assassin. _

"_No!"_

_The black sword went into the chest of Skull, ending his agony._

Putting the nightmare aside, she got out of bed and ran looking for her guild mates.

-

-

-

A hand shook him violently, a muffled voice calling him. He continued snoozing, when someone slapped him hard across the cheeks. He woke with a start, grabbing his assailant by the neck.

"Ugh! You're killing me!"

"Huh? Nimb? Sorry."

Cerberus looked out of the window. Seeing the brightening of the sky, he realized it was dawn.

"For goodness sake you're still lazing in bed when Immuonnas is in danger! There's big news circulating!"

Cerberus grabbed his armor laid beside him and strapped it on hastily.

"Sorry. What's going on?"

"An alarm in the prison rang just a moment ago. The guards are reporting that an assassin killed a guard and escaped! I'm sure it's him!"

The knight leader wasted no time.

"Indeed? Hurry, let's go. Where's Piffy and Pay?"

"They went to check out the commotion," the rogue said, dragging her leader out of the house.

The two ran across Prontera to the western side, where a crowd was gathering near the prison. Before they started looking for the rest, Pay and Piffy were already running in their direction.

"I'm positive that Skull escaped," Pay said with relieve rather than frantic.

"Bah! To think that you're glad! This is going to mean serious trouble, not only for that thick-head, but for us!" Piffy grumbled.

"At least we don't have to see him executed," Pay argued.

Cerberus looked among the crowd, as if expecting someone.

"Where's Sagi and Manald?"

"I'm not sure about the wiz, but I think I see Manald over there," the alchemist said, pointing to a white-robed priestess trying to break past the crowd to reach them.

"How do we tell this to her? She can't stand murders, especially done by Skull. She's bound to get a blow if she learns of this," Maraulea asked as the priestess drew nearer.

"She'll eventually know, why not tell her earlier," Cerberus said.

Manald confronted the four, a look of bewilderment on her face.

"Is it true that…"

"Unfortunately, yes," Piffy answered her intended question.

Cerberus nudged the alchemist for blurting it so bluntly, after he saw the priestess's eyes watering slightly. Maraulea put an arm around her, whispering comforting words to her.

"How could he _kill_ the guard…? Even if he planned to escape, he shouldn't have!" she cried.

"There must be a reason, otherwise he won't think of it," the rogue consoled.

Manald swallowed hard and glared at the rogue.

"No matter what it's a sin to kill! First, Galor. Now a guard! He's getting atrocious…"

"We may not know why he killed the guard, but he's just seeking justice for his sister by killing Galor. What's more, that sick man stabbed him!"

"And your sick man actually ran off the prison!" a deep voice sounded behind the priestess.

A monk advanced dangerously, forcing Manald backwards. He turned his attention to the knight, Cerberus.

"That sadistic assassin of yours killed my men. I will never forget this. Prepare to be doomed, Avenger. The king had ordered a town-wide search, and his men are already hunting for him. He is now _wanted_, dead or alive."

"That was underhand, Tien. You had bribes aggravating and exaggerating the situation, making the king succumb to it!" Cerberus snapped, grabbing the monk by his long brownish coat that reached his knee.

"Go on, hit me. Have you too little things to worry about?"

Both men stared dangerously at each other, the tension building up. Cerberus released the monk's coat, partly because Manald was pleading him to cause no more trouble, and partly because he knew that Tien's bribes would exaggerate matters again, which might eventually bring him into prison. Spitting on the floor in disdain, Tien gestured for his guild to leave.

"We've got enough worries at hand," Pay reminded his knight leader.

-

-

-

The west gate had been breached. Mobs of zombies, goblins and nightmares terrorized the city, destroying the west portion of Geffen swiftly. Towers and walls crumbled by the charge of the demons, innocent lives claimed by the four's sword. Mothers carried their crying children and escaped the city, planning to seek refuge in other cities.

The wizard council held impromptu meetings, gathering last minute forces to withstand more summons from the four. Several scouts were assigned to different towns, requesting reinforcements to help even the odds of the battle.

Because these four humanoid knights came too suddenly, the wizards fought half-heartedly. Groups of mages and wizards fell from increasing scores of demons, their spells only wiping out a very minute portion of the demon mob. The more experienced wizards endeavored to cast large-scale destruction spells, however, the lengthy amount of time required for the sophisticated incantations allowed the demons to intercept fast.

Very few managed to cast it successfully, jets of fire and fierce storms clearing a few scores of demons. The rest expected more of these to come, but the few wizards who cast these energy-draining spells collapsed upon the spell completion. Elementary magic spells affected them little, which drained away recently promoted mages' energy unnecessary.

Soon enough, the streets of Geffen were stacked with dead wizards. Hunters who resided in Geffen too joined in the battle, but offered little to destroy the army. The Lord of Death smashed the walls with his massive sword and his steed's charge, sending the hunters falling to their death. The city of magic was now reduced to a city of dead sorcerers.

-

-

-

Just when dawn broke, Sagizeulus was already on his way out of the church, where it was still silent. Nobody was in the main hall, so he took the opportunity to exit the place. The wizard had his energy and vitality restored to him in such short nap, which surprised him. Usually, it would take at least a day to recover completely.

His destination was the west gate, where the Overlords usually were when they wanted to meet him. He fiddled with his necklace as he walked the silent streets, a breeze ruffling his brown hair. The wizard did not remember how or where he had that necklace, but the man who took him in, known as Scarlet to him, told him that his parents left him that.

But, he recalled nothing of his parents. He inquired Scarlet on several occasions, but the man told him little. He only knew that he had the necklace since a very young age. People often marveled at it, even though he did not find anything unique about it. It had two rings strung together with a chain, the two nondescript rings locking each other. One of it was black, and the other was silvery.

Sagi walked past the Odin fountain and entered the west of Prontera. He spotted six figures loitering at the west gate, no doubt it was the Overlords. He asked the gate guards to open the gates, allowing him access to the outside fields where they were.

"What do you want?" the wizard asked coldly.

Tien cracked his knuckles, sneering at the wizard's question.

"Isn't it obvious? We need you to destroy the Avenger. I called you here to fill you in on my plans."

"Bah! Must I bid to your commands? You call me and dispose me at your own free will?"

"It's totally up to you, wizard. I've a big network of men, I can easily spread the news that Sagizeulus, the renegade wizard, invoked the dead branches into life."

Sagi clenched his fist, his chins trembling in rage.

"You asked me for help in the first place! Now you're slandering me! Damn you, Tien!"

"Hahaha… So you better do the right thing. Work for me, and destroy Avenger. That simple. Now for the plan…"

The monk grabbed Sagi's robes and pulled him closer, both of them face-to-face.

"I've picked an abandoned house lying in the middle of Payon woods. Your job is to lure them there, and my man Von will finish the business. I know you can't bear to kill them, so I've made your job so simple."

Sagi wanted to pull free of the monk and return, but someone caught his attention. A young boy came running towards them, the wizard recognizing him as a Geffen scout judging from his attire and the Geffen emblem at the sleeve. He stopped the boy, for he sensed something fishy happening.

"You're from Geffen. What news do you bring?"

The boy wiped his sweat before continuing rather breathlessly.

"I'm here to request reinforcements from Prontera. Geffen is under attack!"

"Damn it. Who's behind the attack?" he pursued, grabbing the boy's shirt anxiously.

"The Lord of Death and three other demonic knights."

The wizard swore, then turned to Tien.

"If you want to make me your scapegoat, go ahead. I'm out. Find somebody else to do your dirty jobs."

With that said, he crushed a butterfly wing, setting his destination to his hometown, Geffen.

-

-

-

Five members of the Avenger sat by the fireplace, discussing their next plans after they left the crowd for the alehouse. The alehouse was crowded as usual, and it was surprising that they even got a seat. Piffy took his mug of ale and washed it down in three loud gulps, wiping away the liquid dripping down his chin.

"You, come," the alchemist called out, waving the barkeep to him. "More mugs of ale!" The balding barkeep, around in his forties, wiped his greasy hands on his apron as he took his order.

"Right away!"

The barkeep returned to the fireplace table a moment later, serving three mugs of foaming ale. Manald wanted to order some grape juice, but she realized that she did not know the barkeep's name, except "You, come", as Piffy always called.

Piffy noted the priestess's look, while he licked the foam off the top of the mug.

"Yes? You need something?"

"Err… Grape juice for me."

"I see. You, come!"

"You come" made his way to their table again, smiling broadly at them.

"Yes, what do you need?"

"Grape juice for my priestess friend here," Piffy shouted to be heard among the roaring customers.

"Sure, coming right up!"

"You come" took a bottle of grape juice on the counter, and returned to the table.

"Here's your drink, Manald."

"Huh? How'd you know my name?"

"You come" gave a brief laugh, then replied her.

"Of course, pretty lady. How could I not know the prettiest priestess of Prontera? That Tesse, how are you two getting along?"

Manald's cheeks colored when "You come" said "you two getting along"

"Don't get the wrong idea. He's just a friend of mine."

"She's right, she has someone else in mind," Maraulea added.

"Indeed? Who might that lucky lad be?" "You come" asked enthusiastically.

"I'm not telling you. You should return to work, nosey-baldie."

Cerberus lifted his mug of ale and finished the remaining half of it.

"I'm thinking we should split up go look for Skull. Damn, I can't believe he became a wanted man."

Piffy wriggled his nose, sipping a mug of ale, which eventually became large gulps. Sighing appreciatively, he started on a second mug.

"Ya know, that's rather troublesome. Might be better if y'all were to stay and defend this place in case something crops up."

"This is one of many alternatives," Pay said, sipping his mug of Payon Mix.

"If Skull escaped, he would not go out through main entrance of the prison. Its most likely that he went by a back door or something," Cerberus said.

Maraulea took a swig at her bottle of Morroc alcohol.

"The prison's located at the north-western part of Prontera. If Immuonnas escaped, he might be headed that direction."

"But we can't confirm anything just yet. Just like Cerberus said, we'll play by ear. We can only hope that he won't be spotted and napped by the king's men," Pay advised.

The possibility of this made Manald choke on her grape juice. She began to worry more about Skull, even though he had escaped the execution. Maraulea passed a concerned look at her close friend, patting her on the back to ease her throat.

"What's wrong? You've been rather quiet."

"Nothing actually," she replied blandly. "It's not easy to run away from the king's men. They're known to find anyone anywhere, be it the depths of Glast Heim or the mountains of Mjolnir."

"Oh, so you're afraid that Immnuonnas might be captured?"

The priestess nodded, swallowing a mouthful of grape juice. A group of four adventurers entered the alehouse, taking an empty table right beside theirs. They ordered mugs of ale and began talking excitedly.

"Scouts' been coming and saying that Geffen is under siege," a swordsman started.

"Hey I heard that just a moment ago. Lord of Death's behind that attack, ain't it?" another swordsman said.

"That explains why I see big groups of armed forces of Prontera marching north west before I came."

"The king is sending reinforcements over, even though I doubt that can hold the four evils back."

"He's already busy with that prisoner. Heard that insane man slew a guard in his sleep!"

"We should hunt for that lunatic. The king's offering a ten million zeny reward for that! Imagine that amount of money in our hands! We'll live in luxury!"

"Anyway, Geffen's in deep trouble, so scouts had said. Many wizards died defending fruitlessly."

Maraulea suddenly gasped, drawing attention from her guild mates.

"Did you hear that? Geffen's under attack! How in the black abyss did the four get there?"

"Yes, we all did. Maybe that explains Sagi's absence. When comes to his hometown, nothing else is important," Cerberus said.

Piffy took a pull from his mug, and plunked it down on the table.

"After hearing this attack, I think we might gotta split. Lets say Skull had indeed went north west, which leads to Geffen, we might find him there on the way. On the other hand, we could join the battle."

"Hmm, splendid. But what about the remaining?" Pay asked.

"I'm going to Geffen," Manald insisted, not wanting to leave any stones unturned. If there was a chance that Skull was there, she would give it a try.

"Me and Piffy will look for more reinforcements while you go to Geffen with Pay and Maraulea," Cerberus suggested.

"Err, actually," Pay protested. "I'm sorry but, I've heard rumors from my townsmen that the Payon cave started producing demons to attack the newly revamped Payon. I've been worrying about this ever since, and this is a good chance to offer whatever help I can."

"So… that leaves me and Lea," Manald said, biting her lower lip.

"Is that ok?" Cerberus asked.

"I suppose so. Geffen isn't very far from here, and I've got my zeny knife to make demons into coins!" Maraulea exclaimed excitedly.

"Then it is final then. I believe that Sagi will be there, you won't be encountering a lot of danger till then."

"I've no problem," Piffy spoke up after a long burp, his face reddening from the mugs of ale.

Cerberus stood up, raising his mugs to his companions.

"Till we meet again. Cheers, my friends."


	16. Bloody dawn

**16**

After relaying the news, the young boy went past them, heading for the castle as quickly as possible, for time is running out. On his way into the entrance, he knocked into a small group of merchants, who began ranting at him for knocking their goods all over. He wanted to run away, but one of the merchants grabbed him by the scuffle. The boy pleaded him to let him go, for he had important message to deliver. Shoving some coins into the merchant's hands as compensation, he broke free and ran ahead.

A monk just outside Prontera watched all these while, rubbing his chins thoughtfully. The wizard's attitude towards him before he left was simply intolerable, his ire arising every time he thought of it. He was sure that wizard headed for Geffen, after that boy told him earlier on that the city was under attack by the Lord of Death and three other demon knights.

'So… those four fools went seeking for Geffen after they left,' he thought. He would not just let him off like that. No matter what, he did not want to let the wizard foil his plans. The wizard must be made use of since he suggested this, jeopardizing the world.

"Master Tien, do we get our bribes to work?" Wart asked formally.

"Do not. I'll take care of him," the monk leader replied softly. "Come, we'll go to Geffen. See what that fool of a wizard can do."

-

-

-

By the time he arrived, what Sagi saw was a scene of chaos and horribly wounded wizards. About a third of the entire wizard army was annihilated, leaving the rest to work doubly hard. The four giants crushed everything in sight as they crossed into the main square of Geffen. Things were very gloomy for the former proud city of magic, now being overrun by demons.

Sagi ran down the staircase of the north entrance and joined the battle. Many wizards who were fighting cared little about the renegade wizard, for their minds were only bent on defending the city. Moreover, Sagi was on their side, at least there was an addition to the army. The hunters had already fallen, the walls felled by the mighty Lord of Death himself.

Sagi focused on the ecstacy of magic coursing through his body, the chants for the spell forming in his mind. He clasped the twin-ring necklace in his hands, which he realized that it could somehow add more force to his spells, much to his confusion. The two rings began to glow suddenly, the black ring darkening into an impenetrable blackness, and the silver one shining an unwavering gleam brighter than that of the Lord of Death.

He pointed his fingers at a group of goblins, bolts of flames disintegrating them into ashes. A small number of wizards started at Sagi, shouting that the accursed wizard had come, which they thought was a bad omen. The outcast heard them, but pretended not to hear them. Sharp bolts of ice came raining, piercing the demons body, freezing them.

The mobs of demons that had been advancing at a very fast speed fell at Sagi's magic. He gathered that these spells would not help in the long run, he had to cast something that would affect a large area, to buy themselves more time.

He pulled out a flask of potion from his robes, the potion mixed by Piffy to him. Made from blue herbs, blue potion, herbs from the rare Shining plant and Yggsdrasil fruit, he took a sip, which was already enough to boost his energy two fold. Feeling charged up, he mustered all his energies he ever could. Directing it to the approaching mobs of nightmares and zombies, he called forth the uncontrollable powers of nature. It started with a violent gale, sweeping away public properties, slowing the demons down.

The wizards shielded themselves as the gale began howling madly, evolving into a destructive storm that froze everything in its wake. The petite goblins were swept off their feet, succumbing into swirling cyclones. All the goblins were only spinning madly at first, but slowly the growing force of the storm ripped them apart. Their brown hide and bones were scattered all over the city by the gale, drawing mesmerized looks from the wizard army.

The storm froze the nightmares into case of ice, rendering them helpless. The ghostly horses neighed in agony as the storm tortured them, degenerating them into ashes. The duration of the storm was more than enough to wipe out most of the demon mobs. The remaining wizard army took over following the storm, casting spells with renewed strength. The last score of zombies cleared, the four were displeasured at the loss of their mobs in a single storm.

"That's quite impressive for our friend there, wiping out those demons single-handedly," Tien said. The Overlords stepped out of the portal, which situated them at the heart of Geffen. Before them were dozens of wizard trying to rejuvenate themselves with potions and herbs, Sagi standing tall among them. A handful of them changed their opinion towards him, acknowledging him as the hero of the battle. But the black-robed wizard reminded them that the four were still around, that they still must not let their guard down.

Tien leaped off the stairs to the base where Sagi stood clutching his chest painfully, leaning against the stair rail.

"Fantastic job, Zeus. But, this is not over. You will aid us in our plans, wizard."

Sagi took a deep breath and stood up straight, staring the monk straight in the eye.

"Banish your thoughts, monk. I've made up my mind, and you can't do a damn thing about it."

Tien's eyes glowered in rage, then slugged the wizard on the jaw. Sagi fell onto the floor, stunned by the punch in his jaw. The Raenore brothers pinned his arms down, ensuring that he could not cast any spells without waggling his fingers. Tien stepped over the wizard, planting his foot on his chest.

"I shall do it this way then."

The wizard squirmed and struggled in vain, for the knight brothers were too strong. Tien stomped him on the chest, stopping his struggles. The monk reached down and took his jaws in his hands, squeezing it tightly. He was about to say something more, but a spit cut him off. Tien punched Sagi on the bridge of the nose, the blow immediately had blood flowing out instantly.

"Tien, run! The… the," Elemire screamed.

"What?"

"Master Tien! The Lord of Death is coming for us with new mobs!" Agis shouted.

Sagi took this opportunity to strike. He yelled words of a spell in fury, an invisible force driving the two knight brothers to the ground, stunned. Opium and Tien hauled the wizard up to attack him, but the spell came faster. Two globes of electricity blasted the two backwards, flying over the staircase and onto the floor.

Seeing the sudden turn of events, Von readied a spell. Sagi felt the earth shift underneath him, then shot up. He flew a few feet into the air, pummelling hard face-first. The injured wizard did not back down. He pointed his fingers at the other wizard, encasing him in a pillar of magical flame. Von screamed as the heat seared his skin and his body, the heat augmenting. His hair was singed, producing wisps of smoke. Sagi spoke again, the pillar of flame disappeared, replaced by a case of ice that trapped Von in it.

He wanted to ignore the Overlords and return to the battle to fight off a fresh mob of demons so Agis said. His horrors were realized when the army that had been there a moment ago lay dead, a phantom swordsman wiping his bloody scimitar on a piece of cloth torn off a robe. Abyss and Storm stood near Doppelganger, looking over the area as if pleased with their work. The great silver knight, Death, diverted his attention to Sagi, the wizard responsible for wiping out the mob of demons earlier.

A fresh mob of demons had indeed been summoned again, most of them surrounding the wizard and the Overlords. The rest were sealing off the entrances, in case someone was attempting to leave. The Overlords stared uneasily at each other, clattering their teeth in fear. Sagi struggled to stand up, but he just could not do so. The spell casting and the presence of the four left him debilitated, his exhales coming out loudly.

'I ain't going to die just like that. Not by these foul demons. If I didn't suggest this, Geffen would not be in this plight,' he thought miserably.

He started to hate the Overlords. They poached him over and how gullible was he to even to trust them readily. It was because of them that his home had to be destroyed! He produced the bottle of potion, and drank the remaining. The potion started to take effect, the overdose of it energising him beyond limit. His body began glowing with magical energy, his fingertips sizzling with lightning.

His body suddenly numbed, his temples pulsing madly. Even though words to a spell did not form in any way in his mind, a pang of confidence overflowed in him. Gathering himself back to his feet, he raised his hands.

"Come forth, the might of the burning hells and rage of flaming earth!"

The ground expanded and cracked, fissures forming near the mob of demons. The world seemed to become white, a bright blinding light making them cower. From the cracks in the ground came large beams of energy, a series of explosions decimating a few scores of demons. Thick jets of fire flew up beneath the hesitating mobs haphazardly, burning them alive, the ashes from dissipated nightmares fluttering around.

The guild took cover, shielding themselves from stray debris flying in all directions. Death slammed his sword on the ground in frustration, seeing that the wizard had to spoil his plans no matter how many times he summoned. The fresh mobs were reduced tremendously, most of them killed by the catastrophic Lord of Vermillion.

Abyss looked over to Death knowingly, gesturing for him to unleash something beyond his customary zombie mob. The great silver knight held his massive sword with the blade pointing downwards, both hands clasping the hilt. Murmuring in a demonic tongue, he waved his sword across, encompassing the city.

The corpse of the previous mob of demons came to life, but it was not something the Overlords and Sagi expected. The animated demons started evolving into larger version of zombies, their skin stripes of black, muscles and veins bulged out of their foul skin. Each of them carried a club, enough to kill more than one person at once in a single swipe even though it looked like any other normal clubs.

Sagi knew he had to escape. One of these zombie masters might already pose as a serious threat, let alone mobs of them. A warp portal must be opened to ferry them out of here, before they became their dinner. He looked frantically for Tien, for he was the only person capable of doing so. However, the monk was nowhere to be found. He only saw the rest of the Overlords crouching near the stairs, they too looking for a way to flee, although it was practically impossible.

A zombie master hurled a club aimed at Sagi's head. He ducked as it went sailing over him harmlessly. The rest of the zombie masters, seeing this attack, started closing in. The Raenore brothers plucked up their courage after Elemire managed to kill two zombie masters with her Ballista. The two knights ran for the nearest one, attempting an overhead hit.

Doppelganger laughed out in amusement, for he saw the zombie master smash the club in one of the knight's abdoment, denting the lower portion of the armour. Wart's helm split apart when a zombie flung its mace at it, hitting true. His head bled, but he fought on. Elemire fired more bolts, felling a few zombie masters who tried a sneak attack behind the knight brothers.

Sagi wanted to help badly, but the Lord of Vermillion left him weak and helpless. His eyelids hung heavily, but he fought it. His first worry was the whereabouts of the monk. He had to look for Tien, before they could escape this place. The zombie masters would definitely overwhelm them if he was to delay any further.

His hopes were raised when he finally saw the monk. Tien dashed out of his hideout, kicking the closest zombie master in the stomach. His Kaiser Knuckles connected next, rendering it unconscious. Forced by such overwhelming mobs of zombie masters that could not be underestimated, it was time to unleash the potent slam of the fist-power.

Tien loud out a battle cry when his body began to turn scarlet. His skin, his face, his whole body became a bloody red, an adrenaline pulsing through him. His pupils suddenly glowed in green, zig-zags of lightning circling his frame. He waited until his fists swelled with power, then he knelt down.

Tien pounded his fists onto the ground, driving deep into the earth. Zombies after zombies fell dead instantly following the death blow from the fist. Sagi swore after watching Tien execute the indispensable art of all monks, the Asura Strike. He knew this would deplete his energy, which meant he might not be able to open a portal.

The angry zombie masters began to charge at them. Agis and Wart were unable to suppress such attack. Opium saw the danger and ran to their aid, throwing bags of zeny to the mob. Bright golden light flared, blinding the zombies momentarily. Elemire fitted four bolts at once, releasing them. She could not afford to shoot one at a time, this way it would not affect the zombie masters much.

Von's spells did not prove effective, for the zombie masters were much more resistant to magic than the smaller zombies. He shouted for the semi-conscious Tien to open a portal, but the loud gurgling of the zombie masters drowned his words. The next thing he knew, a club went down his head, smashing his skull. The wizard fell dead.

"They're taking too long to finish that bunch of them. We don't have a lot of time to spare watching a circus," Doppelganger said. The phantom swordsman went into the zombie mob at ghostly speed, cutting the zombies that blocked his way. A pathway was cleared, allowing him to reach the first few, the Raenore brothers and Opium.

The three were busy fighting off the zombies until they did not realize Doppelganger participating in the battle. Since his speed was unequalled, they knew they were doomed. The scimitar of Doppelganger worked in a flash, and the two knight brothers dropped limb, blood pouring out of a heart wound. Opium produced another bag of zeny to blind the swordsman, but still, Doppelganger beat him to it. The bag of zeny flew from his hands when the scimitar slashed his hands, then impaled the blacksmith's heart before he could even try to defend.

"No!" Tien mumbled as he watch his guild mates die one by one before his eyes. Even though he lacked the energy to walk, he was determined to prevent Elemire from suffering the same fate.

A bolt grazed Doppelganger's arm. He looked to see a huntress aiming another bolt at his heart. Sneering to himself, he ran around at shadowy speed, the huntress unable to identify his exact spot. Tien, knowing well that he had not the energy to open a portal, submitted his fate. He moved backwards, drawing away from the Doppelganger. Then, his hand brushed against something. He thought one of the four was behind him or something, but his hunch proved wrong when he found a butterfly wing in his hands.

"Elemire! Come to me!"

The huntress turned back to see Tien waving a butterfly wing in his hands. She put away her Ballista and ran to him, praying that Doppelganger would not catch up. She dove at the monk and held his arm as he activated the spell. Apparently Elemire was not the only person who saw Tien waving the butterfly wing, for Sagi was half running to the two. His escape could be made only when he contacted either one of them physically when the wing activated. Since Elemire was closer, the wizard made an effort to jump as far as he could.

His fingertips almost touched Elemire's boots, only to feel the air. He was too late, the two of them already had gone, free from the four and their minions. He expected the zombie masters to close in on him and slaughter him, which was not the case. Death waved his sword again, dismissing the mob back to where they belonged. The idea of him being spared was quickly discharged, for he knew the merciless four were not humans, they kill without emotions and remorse.

Things were not that simple. Doppelganger stopped duplicating himself by dashing about, the movement always creating shadows of him. He walked over to Sagi, standing over him with scimitars gripped in his right hand. The swordsman ran his hand through his hair, brushing away his long fringe tickling him below the brows. He made a "come on" gesture to the other three.

Death, Storm and Abyss trampled on the piles of corpse, the aftermath of the battle, as they crossed over to Doppelganger. The three stood over the wizard, the sheer size of them making Sagi shrink literally.

"What are you waiting for? We still have to prepare for the orcs!" Storm urged impatiently.

Death sheathed his sword, that adding to Storm's ire.

"There's something wrong…"

'Orcs? What orcs were they talking about?' Sagi thought.

Doppelganger frowned upon hearing Death's words.

"Are you hesitating? The Lord of Death, considering whether to kill?"

"If you want to kill me, shut your mouths and do it quick," Sagi said firmly.

"You speak too much before your death," Abyss responded.

Storm whipped out a black dagger, twirling it in his hands.

"Why should I even bother waiting? It'll be dusk by then!"

He shoved Doppelganger aside, poising the dagger above the wizard's chest. Sagi closed his eyes, anticipating for the dagger to stab deep in his heart. Before Storm's hand came down, the blue knight began sniffing furiously, and fell back.

"What the –"

Sagi waited, but the blow never came. He opened his eyes to see Stormy Knight staring at him in shock. Doppelganger shook his head in disappointment, taking over where Storm left off.

"Wait a minute. Did I smell…" the swordsman paused in his attack. "How can this be…?"

Death let out his breath as something around the wizard's neck started glowing. Abyss too noticed the bizarre object, two rings locked in each other, strung by a chain. He reached down to grab the necklace, and drew his hand back painfully. His hostile actions had his fingers burnt by weird powers, while the two rings, one black and the other silver, illuminated.

Abyss stared at Death questioningly, holding up his repelled finger.

"What do you sense, Death?"

"I've already said there was something wrong," Death croaked, looking past Abyss and at the two who tried to kill the wizard.

"What exactly is wrong!?" Doppelganger pursued in exasperation.

Death was tempted to drive his sword through the wizard's chest to test it personally, but he did not want to take any chances. Secondly, he sensed an essence of a superior within the wizard as well, which he found it rather bizarre. He dismounted Silver, then went to inspect the necklace. Sagi grew uncomfortable, for he was still uncertain if he was going to die or not. But he knew one thing though, that somehow the necklace protected him against their attack. His face widened in realization when Silver shifted uncomfortably, its neighs growing more disturbing.

"Dark Lord?"

Doppelganger leaped to his feet.

"Let's go! This place is destroyed anyway."

"The scent of Dark Lord indeed. It's impossible," Abyss observed.

Death shook his head.

"This is not the Dark Lord. What we sensed from that necklace, is just a minute amount of essence. Nevertheless, we will take precautions. We shall leave and prepare ourselves until we start our invasion."

Doppelganger and Storm was already ahead, Death and Abyss making their departure back to the mountains shortly after.


	17. Attack of the high officials

-17-

There was no denying that Geffen was near. The grass had darker shades of green, and the sight of many wizards loitering there gave him the hint. Then again, something seemed strange. He was only at the outskirts of the Geffen territory, which was usually deserted, yet it was rather rowdy.

Even inhabitants of the city were among the scattered groups of people. They did not look like their usual self, the peaceful, serene kind. Instead, a mask of panic was what's displayed. He walked past them without any attention, unlike before he came here, where people stopped their work, whispering about him quietly, all the while looking at his battered state.

Geffen was still quite a long way from where he was. Skull tilted his head to look above the trees, and saw smoke drifting into the air. From his experience, he gathered that it was smoke from war. He extended a bloody hand to stop a mage passer-by.

"What lurks in Geffen?"

"Err… We're under attack by the Lord of Death! As you can see, everybody evacuated immediately when the invasion started," the mage said, interested more about his wound in the stomach than his question.

Skull gave a wave of his hand to indicate that he was done asking. He went deeper into the Geffen fields, encountering more residents and young mages making their escape. A few families stopped in their escape, one of their members suffering from an injury. This certainly did not bode well, for they foreseen that the four would pursue after they were done with the city, the process that would not take too long considering their combined might.

Realizing the seriousness of this, he half-ran to the city. If Geffen was to be destroyed, the wizard council, and especially the followers of magic, would be utterly devastated to lose their sole home of sorcery. The assassin exited a wooded area and found himself in an open field, with a large white structure not too far away. He could see Geffen clearly now, several prominent tall structures and buildings ablaze, a few more wizards streaming out, barely making their way out.

A hand grabbed his ankles, almost making him fall. Skull looked down to see a blood soaked wizard lying barely conscious. His mouth was moving, as if trying to tell him something, but he could not hear anything. He was on the verge of telling the wizard to release him so he could run ahead, then changed his mind. This man was going to die anyway, no harm listening to his last words. And so Skull knelt beside the wizard, leaning his ears close.

"H… help… help a per… person inside. H… he… he aided us in battle, bu… but he… he's trrr… trapped… help him."

"Who's trapped? At least tell me his name!" Skull said in irritation.

The wizard, around in his thirties, had his white robes torn at many areas, revealing hideous wounds. He heard the assassin's question, wanting to give him a reply as quickly as possible. He then rushed himself, at the expense of having difficulty breathing.

He could only choke out two syllabus of a word, which Skull heard it as "reneg…", then his breaths stopped.

The assassin clutched at his stomach wound as it acted up once again. The bandage came off when he was in the prison, after the guard whipped him with his whip. He suppressed his pain for the moment, his mind still trying to figure out what was the last word. He came out with several possibilities, but realized that it did not make much sense.

"Renegade?" he thought suddenly as he went into Geffen through the east gate. From what the young mage told him earlier that the Lord of Death initiate this attack, he found it startling that there was no sign of him. Instead, what he saw was only a city full of dead wizards defending without success, and a black robed figure lying unmoving near the square of Geffen. Skull immediately identified that person as Sagizeulus, and so, his last guess made sense.

"Stop right there!"

Skull turned and saw two brawny men running to him with a flail. At first he thought that these two high officials came from Prontera to survey the aftermath of the war, judging by their breastplate, a bandanna with a Prontera eagle logo and a ball'n'chain (leg cuffs) hanging from their belt.

He was wrong apparently, when one of the two unslung a bow, aiming an arrow at him. Skull did not need to think for a second, summoning a row of bone spikes at the high official, piercing his foot as he let loose the arrow. The assassin had to dodge this arrow, otherwise he would be paralyzed, then ultimately death, since these high officials tend to use venom-tipped arrows to hunt their victims. Fortunately, the injuring of the high official's foot caught him by surprise, the arrow released at a small force. Skull did not even have to sidestep, for the aim went awry.

The other official, seeing his partner took down by the assassin's heinous act, came at Skull. The official executed an overhead swing, but was deflected easily by the Infiltrators. The flail swung again, the spiked ball attached to the shaft by a chain almost smashing into Skull's cheeks. The assassin measured his opponent, then ducked at another swing.

Seeing some kind of structure behind him, he did a back flip and cloaked into it. The official increased his awareness, moving cautiously in case his evasive adversary sprang out of nowhere. He moved along the structure in his cloaked state still, until he reached the end. He stepped out of the structure quietly, digging his boots for a dagger where he had hidden. The official's back was facing him, still taking each step slowly. He was open to attack, but Skull did not strike just yet, even though it was tempting to.

He had something else in mind. He was deep in thought as he applied a layer of venom over the blade of the dagger, a potent one that would numb someone completely, then die from it. Unless it was a wanted person, the king would not have dispatched his highly efficient officials to work.

Only then did he knew that the king had branded him a terrorist, a wanted man to be executed no matter what. Satisfied with the amount of venom applied, he aimed casually and took a shot. The sound of a flying dagger made the official turn around, only to be hit slightly below the throat. The potent venom began to take effect immediately upon the hit, though the official was pretty much dead from the hit alone.

Skull walked over to the dead official, whose face was disfigured and bleeding from the mouth. Pressing his left hand on the body as a lever, he extracted the toxic dagger with his right. He took his eyes off the macabre corpse, thinking that the coast was clear for now. He approached the black robed wizard mid way­, and an arrow struck his upper back, etching deep into the flesh.

He screamed out, the poison-tipped arrow immobilizing him completely. The venom coursed through his body, searing his internals, constricting his throat. He could not speak nor move, well aware that the other official would drag him back to prison, then executed on the spot.

Scolding himself for being careless, he began thinking that he would be reuniting his sister in the nether world soon. The world started fading, blurring into a swirl of colours. The pain in his stomach wound ascended a higher level, likely aggravated by the poison. Feeling his body sanctioned so badly never before, he closed his eyes in defeat.

-

-

-

He heard some noise subconsciously. It sounded like a group of little boys chattering. But he did not care one bit, what he wanted to do was to lie still, and hope that the disturbing noises would leave him alone.

"Who in the right mind would be sleeping here?"

"Yeah, the sun's long up."

"Be careful, people, this man looks strong."

He began to stir, but the fuzziness persisted, forcing him to close his eyes. How he wished he could punch the daylights out of those chattering bunch!

"Hey look, this huntress looks hot."

"Damn right! Let me do a little check-up on her."

His eyes finally fluttered open after the last sentence, making out three figures standing over him, and another two kneeling over something beside him, as if it aroused their interest. Next, he heard a yell and that two figures fell back, moaning in pain.

"This man's awake!"

"Come any closer, I'll shoot!" a feminine voice snapped.

His body ached all over when he regained conscious. The three figures stepped back, muttering among themselves as he sat up groggily. He took a closer look; all these while the chattering were from these group of five novices. He did a three hundred and sixty degree scan, everywhere around him were tall trees and thick plantations. Concluding his scan, he saw the other two novices, clutching their shoulders in pain. A bolt was sticking out in each. A familiar huntress stood glaring at them.

"Where's this place?"

The huntress looked relieved to see him awake, lowering her Ballista.

"Tien! These two perverts actually had the audacity to touch me!"

Tien waved his hand in disregard, turning his attention back to the three He gathered himself onto his feet, pulling a startled novice towards him.

"Tell me, where is this place? Why do you bring us here?"

The novice looked away from the monk in fear, signalling for his friends to help, but none dared to step forward, otherwise they might just end up just like him.

"You were lying here with this huntress all these while, sir monk. We were just passing by."

"You haven't answered my first question, kid," Tien demanded, pulling him closer till he could feel the boy trembling.

"P…Payon woods," the young boy stammered his reply.

'How in the damned abyss did I end up here?' he thought. Elemire chased the group away by raising her Ballista, pretending to aim a bolt at them. The three carried away two of their injured friend and scampered into the woods, away from them. Thin rays of the afternoon sunlight filtered through the large crowns, offering sufficient light in the dark, wooded area.

Tien stopped rubbing the swelling on his head as a violent rustling of leaves made him tilt his head up.

"It's my falcon," Elemire calmed the monk.

The brown falcon glided downwards, landing on her outstretched arm. The bird let out a prolonged squawk, flapping its wings at the same time. Elemire nodded thoughtfully after she understood its indications.

"We're not too far from Payon, which lies north from here."

Tien nodded in understanding. How he ended up in the Payon woods still remained a mystery to him. What intrigued him further was the fact that he was alone with Elemire, and that there was an emptiness feeling. Where were the others who used to follow him? Why was Elemire the only familiar person around? How did he end up here in Payon woods of all places?

All these questions nagged at him tirelessly. Perhaps it was not a bad thing that he ended up there, since he was near home. He would take a proper rest, and he might recall something to answer his own questions. A used butterfly wing on the ground suddenly gave him flashbacks, picking up what he did not remember.

Before he ended up here, he led his guild to Geffen. The place where it was under siege by Lord of Death. He remembered his purpose of going there, that was to seek out Sagi. His heart began to beat furiously as the truth unveiled slowly. The whole of Geffen was filled with zombie masters, surrounding them, barring their escape. He remembered unleashing his devastating Asura Strike to control the mob, leaving him weak as a result. Doppelganger joined the fray shortly, slaying Agis and Wart, then Opium. His wizard, Von, was gone too. Only he and Elemire survived the ordeal, after he discovered a butterfly wing.

"My guild… is gone?"

Elemire turned back, seeing the monk staring in disbelieve.

"What's the matter?"

"All of them… they died? Gone just like that?" Tien asked slowly.

"Yes… we were helpless then," the huntress replied with a bitter look. The monk could see tears welling up as her eyes glittered.

Tien buried his head in his fists, trying to assimilate all these. But it was too great a blow to him. He hoped that it was just a mere nightmare.

"How did this happen!?" he screamed in frustration.

"Get a grip, Tien! No one could have stopped them! At least they died fighting!" Elemire consoled, while trying to battle her tears away.

The blow was seemingly not enough. He saw an archer running his way, tugging a little girl behind. A bandaged was wrapped hastily around his left arm, stopping the flow of blood.

"Sir monk! Please lend us aid! Demons are streaming out of the cave without stopping!"


	18. Oneman wrecking machine

-18-

"Enter."

The double doors to the room opened, revealing two tough warlords who had not rested since the battle yesterday. Their hair matted against their forehead, blood oozing out from several places. They had yet to seek treatment, for there was much to tend to. Both worn out warlords stripped off their dented armor, taking seats opposite each other. King Tristan waved to a servant, who began serving glasses of wine to the visitors. Nobody spoke just yet, the king was still standing by the window, looking over his city.

"This is such a sudden change. Everyone had gone running off, leaving behind such silence… how can the great Prontera reduced to this humiliating state overnight?" the king shook his head sadly.

Larzen laid some documents on the table, taking the glass of wine. Reports have been flowing in to the two and the king, regarding the re-construction of Prontera, death of those who fought, reinforcements requested from Geffen and other miscellaneous matters. They were deprived of sleep ever since the carnage, reinforcing their current forces, burying the dead.

The fatigued king resumed his seat, taking a glass of wine in his hands.

"The four of them is at it again, huh."

"Indeed, my lord. Latest reports have been saying that Geffen had fallen, the wizard forces entirely wiped out," Smith read the reports laid out.

"Looks like getting all the cities in Rune-Midgard to work together is inevitable," Larzen added.

"Yes. I myself had scouts running to various cities to relay the danger we are all facing. However I doubt Payon would be lending us aid," the king said.

Smith drained his glass of wine.

"Why not?"

"Rumours are saying that Moonlight Flower is behind the assaults. She might be wanting to claim the town herself," Larzen explained, shuffling through the documents for the Payon news.

"Moonlight? But she was banished back to the depths of the cave a year ago!" the other warlord responded with a doubtful look.

Larzen had remembered the gruesome fight that took place exactly a year ago. He had been sent to Payon, together with a phalanx of cavalries and priests, as reinforcements to stop the demons streaming out of the cave. That fateful day Moonlight Flower came out and made an attack personally, bringing with her troops of sohee and zombies. Guards standing by the cave were killed instantly, and so no warnings were made. Payon was then under a surprise attack, most families failed to survive it, this resulting in countless deaths.

Payon's closest neighbour, Alberta, was the first to come to their aid. The blacksmiths from Alberta managed to buy the town of archers some time by stunning the demons with Mammonite. Hunters did little to weaken the growing army, let alone the archers. Being the main killing machine, the feline superior crushed many with her trademark bell attached to a stick, magic spells being her secondary means of offence.

Larzen led his troops south east, into the woods of Payon. By the time they engaged in the battle, the evening was deepening. There was massive bloodshed, from cracked skulls of the defenders to burned bodies of hunters. The odds were tipped against the blacksmith, after the hunter forces were decimated. The warlord did not even have to shout a command. Upon seeing this horrible act, the mounted knights charged ahead at the sohees.

Driven to a desperate measure, the priest began preparing to cast an impromptu Magnus Exorcimus, a dangerous spell learned only by experienced priests during late stages of their priesthood. Immense holy energy blasted around the zombies, sending all of what Moonlight gathered to death.

Temporarily distracted by the sudden explosion of energy, Moonlight was sniped at by hunters who were still alive then. The angry cat demon started forming spells, only to be interrupted by Larzen. The warlord went to engage with Moonlight in battle, while his troops travelled to the cave and cease the endless flow of demons. Moonlight began weaken as a result of mortal wounds caused by arrows, and the fact that her demons were killed by the Magnus Exorcimus. She was forced to concede, swearing that she would return some day to avenge this humiliation. With that said, she disappeared back into the cave.

"And she had to attack during these troubled times of all times!"

"Right. The Payon townsmen re-constructed it for naught, then, if she began her assault," Smith added, visualizing the damage that was probably happening now.

"This time round, that cat bitch brought with her those vampires as well. Expect one hell of a fight," Larzen reported.

The king ordered a refill of his wine.

"You mean bonguns and munaks?"

"Yes, my lord," both warlords answered in synchronized manner.

"I'm afraid Prontera can't afford to help," the king shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I've seen the reports for myself, and our forces were greatly depleted following yesterday's battle."

Smith sighed heavily, twirling the glass of wine.

"I'd never think that Prontera would be the next town to be re-constructed."

Following Smith's remark, Larzen suddenly brightened up. Yes, it would be cumbersome to re-build the city, and it would also take a rather long time, no doubt. But during the construction process, something else could be done…

"My, lord," he said, sharing his idea excitedly. He looked at his comrade, then at the king, expecting a good response. His face lit up even more when the king nodded in satisfaction.

"Yes, we will put this into action right away. Moreover, it would be sooner or later that Lord of Death starts another attack on us."

Smith then hammered the table enthusiastically, laughing away when he envisioned the Lord of Death and the three other demonic knights struggling upon their attack on Prontera.

"Yes! It shall be done!"

-

-

-

This parting was rather hard for Pay to take it. He knew this time round that the dangers were not a child's play, supposedly the four grew stronger each coming day. It seems Moonlight Flower had similar intensions, but at a smaller scale. He thought back to the days when he was still a novice, training himself hard on a regular basis to promote to an archer.

Those days were exactly the period where Moonlight first struck. His mother tugged at his hand to flee the demon-strewn town, when dawn broke. Usually when such attacks occurred, the guards posted at the cave would give warnings for the townsmen to evacuate. Apparently, they became the first hapless victims of the cat demon. And that was how he lost his father, one of the well-known hunters back then, fighting valiantly for the town.

A survivor of that incident once told him that his father was a hero, for he died sacrificing himself to a large mob of sohees surrounding his friend. After peace was restored, his mother still remained downcast, grieving over his father's death. In the midst of his contemplations, he realized that he was still traversing the thick woods of Payon. The night has fallen, but his trained eyes allowed him to see just as well as day. For some reason, his falcon felt uncomfortable as he neared his home, the "mad" falcon screeching after every short pause. This sign began to confirm his suspicions, the hunter having a gut feeling that an attack was already underway.

The starry night was a beautiful sight, yet the tall, looming trees obliterated the stars. Unknown dangers lurked about the dark woods, hissing of a snake or crunching footsteps of a willow was occasionally heard. But Pay cared little about them, his first priority was the safety of his town. Secondly, these dangers in the woods were considered peanuts to him, since he was inarguably a skillful full-fletched hunter. Seeing a pale light shining on the open fields just ahead of him, his anxiety increased as he would soon know if the rumours were true. He crossed the thick bush, and out to the open fields. His worse fears were realized, however, when he heard a din and saw smoke coming from a conflagration.

What astounded him further was that, Tien and the huntress who talked with him yesterday were battling a score of bonguns just within the entrance. Pay ran forward as he unslung his Arbalest, fitting an oridecon arrow to shoot off a sohee creeping up behind Elemire. The sohee's hair stopped fluttering, then the undead woman's body fell limb. Elemire turned around, finding the dead sohee lying at her feet. The huntress then realized that someone had saved her from the stealth attack, and that someone was Pay. She smiled at him, then continued getting her Ballista to work, felling more sohees crowding the bridge leading to the entrance.

Pay's "mad" falcon began screeching at a higher crescendo, swooping down to bite off the yellow talisman pasted on a munak's hat, then pecked her eyes out. Pay took over from there, letting fly another arrow at the female vampire's heart. The Arbalest bowstring hummed for a long time, as Pay's fingers worked furiously to diminish the demons crowding the bridge, preventing any helpers to enter.

The hunter was forced to watch in awe as Tien began transforming into a critical state. His pupils glowed an unholy green, the skin on his body darkened into a deep red. Small streaks of lightning crackled over and around his muscular frame, the monk now an undisputed fighter. The Kaiser Knuckles he wore became spiked, punching holes into the demons. Roaring in rage, he smashed his fist into a bongun, the force cleanly looping off the head. Each blow sent demons falling over the bridge and down the river, clearing the bridge for access into the town.

The one-man wrecking machine facilitated the other defenders. But his aim was not to clear the demons. He wanted to seek out Moonlight herself. Tien punched his way through scores of demons, eventually bringing him to his burning home. Recognizing the Chinese style renovations of his house and a statue of a dragon by the stairs, he jumped into the raging flames, wishing that nobody was trapped in it. Unfortunately for him, he stepped on a hand. The monk leaped over a burning beam, and recognized the man lying dead. He was burned alive. The half charred body belonged to his father.

"Father!" Tien screamed, his eyes glowingan even horrific green."Father!"

Tien quickly pulled the body of the senior monk out of the house, deciding that he would give him a proper burial after this battle. The question was, he did not even know if he could survive this ordeal, for the second round of attack by Moonlight and her stronger forces made things rather pessimistic.


	19. Kill stealing rogue

-19-

The pink blob burst, and a hand began extracting coins formed upon the poring's death. Maraulea laughed to herself again when she held up the zeny she earned.

"There's no reason that I'm not a money bringer!"

The rogue had been interfering with monsters novices were trying to kill, plundering the coins that formed when the zeny knife stabbed into a monster. The agitated novices began ranting at her, some chasing her to demand their items back. But all of them ended up baffled when she hid herself underground, leaving Manald to handle them.

They had intended to travel by foot, the rogue saying that they could earn extra zeny this way. But the priestess did not expect to turn out as she thought, when she had to take the rap for her rogue companion. To prevent future confrontations from the novices, she wanted to open a portal, then decided to change her mind. Skull might not be inside Geffen, probably somewhere in these fields. Along the way Maraulea got bored, casually sticking her zeny knife out to cut porings to death.

Both of them were the first to make their leave when they were in the alehouse. Cerberus and Piffy stayed behind, telling them that they would watch the construction, keeping a lookout for dangers lurking near Prontera at the same time. The priestess knew that was not the case. The knight leader did not want them lecturing him again, because of his intension to visit Izlude. When Cerberus made trips there to pay visits to his parents' grave, he would undoubtedly cause an uproar from the people, branding him an outcast of Izlude. His brother Cranius, would then drive him out personally.

She knew he might try to ask for reinforcements from Izlude, to help in the defense of Prontera and future invasions from the four. The result was obvious, maybe either thrown out of the city by force, or jeered at. Right now, finding Skull was more important. She only prayed that he did not encounter any of the high officials, otherwise, the consequences would be dire. These merciless officials were capable of everything to hunt a target down, even if they had to kill, they would oblige.

The priestess did not feel at ease the least bit. If he was spotted by even one of them, he was in no condition to fight. The last she saw him, he was thoroughly injured, not to mention, heavy loss of blood. She was not allowed to go near the assassin, though she only wanted to treat his wounds. The officials roughly pushed her away, then dragged the motionless body into prison harshly.

Night was approaching. They had been traveling in the Geffen plains since they left the alehouse, never stopping once to rest. Maraulea was already complaining of sore legs and thirst, but Manald made her walk on. The rogue suggested that she open a portal to Geffen, so they could at least rest for the night and retrace their steps the next day. Little did they know, Lord of Death and the other three had reduced it to nothing except carcasses of dead sorcerers.

-

-

-

Tien roared again when he bashed two sohees in the face, knocking them into oblivion. Moonlight had to be somewhere near the cave, he thought. He saw no signs of the feline superior in the battlements, so that left the cave the only possible place.

He abandoned the huntress, bashing his way through the thick mobs of cave demons, leaving a line of them in his wake. The monk glimmered with hope when he a faint tinkling of a bell, the telltale sign that Moonlight was nearby. Another mob of freshly produced demons was beat down, and Moonlight caught sight of a monk, the mastermind of her demons' death.

Tien came face to face with the feline superior. The streaks of lightning sizzling around him became more active when deaths of his guild mates and his father drove him into a frenzy. His fist lashed out, jabbing Moonlight in the face. That, however, had little effect on her. She swiped her bell weapon at the side of Tien's head, but he nimbly ducked it. Then, Moonlight kept her bell weapon aside. The monk knew that she was switching her tactic to spell-casting. He had to distract her somehow.

He faked an uppercut, which made Moonlight did a back flip. The distraction in the middle of her spell-casting was a success, and there was his chance to pull it off. He grabbed her by the leg during her back flip, and flung her onto the floor. The bell weapon fell off her hands, but she was yet to be defeated. Tien smashed a fist at her head, ending up hammering the grassy ground. She had evaded his hit, her lips moving to chant a spell.

Bolts of flame rained onto Tien, stunning him for a moment. The feline superior took the opportunity to recover her bell weapon. Although the bell looked small and harmless, it was in fact made stronger than an emporium. It went flying at Tien's head, but met his right fist instead. Tien raised his right fist to counter hit the bell, the force sending both staggering backwards. Moonlight's lips moved again as she readied another spell, bolts of jagged ice raining onto the monk.

Tien expected another magic attack, and he already had it planned out. He made a short teleportation move to evade the spell, using his body relocation ability. The streaks of lightning surrounding his body crackled violently, indicating his readiness. The green glow of his pupils gleamed brighter when he started teleporting around Moonlight, appearing around the cat demon randomly.

Moonlight raised her bell weapon, and bolts of lightning shot down the area around her, hoping to stop whatever was up his sleeve. After the lightning bolts stopped striking, all was silent. She was positive that her magic, which rarely failed, had struck the monk to death. Smirking at his impudence, she started leaving for the cavern to employ more demons from the foul labyrinth.

"I see overconfidence is your Achilles Heels," a deep voice croaked. It was too late when she identified the voice. Tien struck the feline superior in a combo of body thrusts and uppercuts, then finally chaining up the hazardous, formidable art in the book, named the Asura Strike. The final stage of the martial arts, this killing blow was believed to eradicate anything upon it.

And so it became, that Moonlight was a victim of the Asura Strike. The mighty fist broke through the bell weapon, and went right through her heart. Her body began to shrivel, the dying feline superior letting out a mournful scream as the last of her body vanished.

The aftermath of the Asura Strike began to take effect. Tien reverted back to the appearance of a normal monk, the lightnight vanished, and his skin turned back to his tanned complexion again. He sat down involuntarily, totally exhausted from the completion of the combo. Erupting into fits of coughing, he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to soothe his aching body. But the battle still raged on, the conflagration tearing down house after house.


	20. Rats as substitution for bats

-20-

The smaller demons felt uneasy ever since the four's arrival to camp in the mountains. They did not fail to make it a habit to keep a close watch over their surroundings, searching for signs that indicate the four's return. And they jump at the slightest thing, be it footsteps or talks among a group of adventurers.

But when they observed a subtle change in the atmosphere, they would scamper away from sight. On top of that, the pounding of hooves gave them the hint that the four are very close. They rarely ventured out until they were assertive that the four returned to their usurped mountain pit.

This time what these smaller demons saw were the four without Doppelganger. Baffled as they were, they still had to hide themselves from the three grand superiors.

The tall grasses swayed and flowers wilted when the three marched past the lower mountain terrains, heading northwards to their camp in the pit. Storm licked his lips when they ascended the mountains, his rumbling stomach only made him relish in the idea of grabbing more drainliars for his snack. With Doppelganger absent this time, he could munch on those red, furry bats without attracting the bitter face of the phantom swordsman.

After the four defeated the wizards and rid of the city, Doppelganger broke off from the four to head southwards, saying that he would return to the mountains latest by dawn the next day. Storm snorted, saying that "this picky swordie must've gone to get more 'fresh' air!"

Abyss and Death were discussing about the necklace, hardly knowing that Doppelganger went gallivanting. This strange wizard was beginning to intrigue the two greatly. Because of that necklace, the black robed wizard was spared. Abyss suspected that the wizard might be one of Dark Lord's subordinates sent as a spy, Death only agreeing to a certain extent.

"The Dark Lord might begin to suspect something from us. But what business has he with us? We did not cross him in any way just yet, neither did we announce to the world that we were setting our eyes on his Intelligence Trait," the great silver knight impugned.

"Might this be a message sent by him indirectly? The wizard came and cleared out mobs without too much effort. If he is indeed under the Dark Lord, I fear he wants to wage a war with us. We would be forced to abort our invasion over the orcs," Abyss responded with a serious look.

"By all means, we'd better take precautions then," Death said, dismounting Silver. He tied his steed outside the pit, ducking as he entered the small cave. Storm was already making his way to the back of the pit, his bestial face grinning with anticipation. Even though Abyss and Death were merely at the entrance, Storm's shouted echoed over the entire pit.

"What –"

"What happened?" Abyss shouted back.

"No more drainliars! Forget it, I'll make do with tarous for now," came the disappointed reply.

The two went back to the deepest chamber of the cave. The dank cave reeked of rotting matter, the stone walls crawling with weird plants growths and a chilling dampness. Storm sat, several dead tarous lay before him with the fur torn out. The blue knight, knowing that these rats tasted not as good as drainliars, decided to make them more appetizing by roasting them over a torch he took off from the wall.

"Get these away, Storm. I've got something to tell you," Abyss said.

"What? Ow!" Storm cried out, the over-roasted tarou scorching his tongue when he took a bite.

Abyss cleared away the tarou and doused the torch fire, demanding attention from the hungry blue knight.

"The Dark Lord is watching us closely. That leaves us to discard our plans to seize control over the orcs. But we would still do it nonetheless, and working separately is necessary. We'll split; one party will keep the Dark Lord and his brethren Baphomet busy, the other will go south for the orcs."

Storm tried to keep his stomach from rumbling, staring away from the tarous.

"Can I not work with Doppelganger? He spoils my appetite."

"You're not going to eat. Your objective would be getting hold of the Intelligence Trait, from both Dark Lord and Baphomet. By the way, you're working with me," Abyss replied with annoyance.

"The assassination of the Orc Lord shall begin after dusk the next day, since Doppelganger is away," Death announced. "The two of you shouldn't be procrastinating any further. We will all return to this pit exactly three days from now to report whatever we gathered."

Storm's face lit up when the discussion concluded. He set the torch ablaze, and began roasting other tarous, while he chewed on the one he had roasted earlier.

"Damn! Now it's cold and hard!"

-

-

-

The lone swordsman prodded his sword hilt at someone in front of him. The lady screamed out in surprise, whipping him with her whip as she turned. The swordsman's shoulder bled from the whip, his face cringing in pain.

"Oops, sorry," she apologised to the young, blonde haired swordsman. "I thought a rocker was behind me or something. You all right?"

He scrutinized the scantily clad lady from head to toe, his mouth gaping open. Even in the night, he saw the dancer blushed, and he realized that he had been staring at her for quite some time.

"Oh I'm ok," he said, forgetting about his injury. "Erm… What's the nearest town from here? I think I'm lost, moreover it's getting dark."

The dancer took out a map, handling it to the swordsman.

"That might be useful. Anyway, the nearest town is Izlude. Just head east, ok?"

"Sure, thanks!" he smiled at her in gratitude.

The swordsman headed east as instructed, encountering more swordsman along the way, an indication that Izlude was near. He took a route around a hill, and the city was in sight. Izlude was almost similar to Prontera in terms of the structure and the way of construction. White cobbled streets, a fountain of Odin, brown walls, almost everything was identical. Being a 'branch' of Prontera, this city is much smaller, and it was where people undertook the job of a swordsman instead of acolyte.

He walked along a long, sheltered Z-shaped bridge leading to the city of swordsman. Merchants and blacksmiths were still occupied with the promotion of their goods, coaxing the passer bys to buy them while stock lasts. A group of swordsman assembling outside the swordsman guild house practised in exhaustion for night warfare.

The blonde swordsman appeared uninterested at these. What caught his attention was a ruckus over at the fountain of Odin. Crowds of people hurled abuses to a person, and that person looked like a knight, as far as he could see. He was lightly armoured, a helm held in the crook of one arm.

'This guy looks familiar,' he thought when he spotted two swords cross-strapped on his back.


	21. Kera

-21-

Cerberus walked calmly through the crowd, despite their hostile attitude towards him. He had left Piffy in Prontera after their drink at the alehouse, telling him that he was headed to Morroc for seeking reinforcements. The alchemist was doubtful; he had a feeling that his companion travelled to Izlude instead, the journey to Morroc was a lie to keep him from stopping the knight leader.

But he stayed behind nonetheless. Cerberus told him that he would return the next day, which further disturbed him. The journey to Morroc and back would take more than a day! Cerberus is certainly a bad liar, he thought. The sceptical alchemist waited till Cerberus was out of sight from the south gate, then he took it upon himself to investigate.

Before the knight leader left, Piffy reminded him that "those smelly Izludeans treats you as nothing more than a parasite! I strongly advise you to stay away from that place, otherwise that brother of yours, if you even consider him one, screws you up real big!"

Piffy travelled south-east to the swordsman city. He did not even need any means of guide though he usually asked Manald for a teleporting warp. The Prontera plains were too familiar to him; he could walk with his eyes closed on the way to Izlude. There were no threatening dangers either, making the journey smooth and effortless. Stars began to dot the cloudless, purplish sky. The night was going to be a fine one, without any storms or rain.

It was not fine for Cerberus, unfortunately. He planned to visit his parents' grave, then talk things out with his brother, Cranius, regarding the terrorism of the four, and how the cities would unite to battle the four superiors. It was unlikely that Cranius would even welcome his presence, let alone listen to his stories all night. But for the sake of Prontera and Rune-Midgard, he had to give it a try.

The response by the townsmen were usual. He walked away from the murmuring groups of commoners, glaring at him balefully while they held their conversations quietly. The plantations around the fountain of Odin swayed gently with the night breeze, as if dancing for Odin himself. A few merchants who had shouted till their voice became hoarse started home, packing up the paraphernalia displayed in their shops into carts that most merchants pulled, to lighten the load in their bags.

The groups of people jeering at him dispersed back to their homes for it was dinnertime. The swordsmen at the training facilities, most of them on their way to knighthood, were dismissed by their commander back to their barracks for refreshments and ample rest for the next training session.

Izlude quieted down, resuming the peaceful atmosphere. Cerberus was glad that the pandemonium had died down, the knight now receiving very little attention from passer bys. The gravesite became his second destination for the night when he stood gazing at a familiar house. It looked just like any other houses in Izlude, but this house had a staircase leading to a pale blue door. Cerberus found himself taking a few steps towards the house subconsciously, as a nostalgic feeling made him reminisce…

_A pupa a few yards from the Prontera entrance intrigued the three novices. It was brown, and it pulsed! The female novice among the group tugged the boy's sleeve beside her._

"_Do you think it'll explode if we just poke it?"_

_An elder boy leading the two began rubbing his chin._

"_Hmm… We could give it a try though…"_

"_No, brother! Something might jab you!"_

"_Bah! How are you going to become a knight with that puny guts of yours, Cerberus? Even Kera is much more daring then you are!"_

"_I'll prove you wrong!" the younger boy said defiantly._

_The girl pulled him back._

"_Don't risk it, Cerb, you know Cranius was just agitating you!"_

"_Just watch me, Kera!" he replied confidently._

_Cerberus gripped the knife hilt tightly, trying to keep a straight face while he confronted the pulsing pupa. It was pulsing even more violently as compared to a moment ago. He yelled as he stabbed the hard shell of the pupa, the knife barely scratching the brown oval shell. It's tough to crack, how am I going to become a knight when I can't even crack it? Cerberus thought bitterly._

_His disappointment melted when he heard a noise of something splitting apart. Jagged lines formed on the pupa, it was cracking! Cerberus puffed his chest out proudly, showing his brother and his friend, Kera, that he was capable. But Kera's expression did not look impressed, instead she looked in terror._

"_Watch out! Cerb run!" she screamed._

_An overgrown, brownish butterfly forced its way out of the pupa, flapping his wings noisily. Cerb froze on the spot when he heard the wings and something prickly touched his neck. He too screamed, asking his brother, who was a swordsman then, for help. The large butterfly, named creamy, managed to steal a blow at the novice before Cranius pushed his brother aside as he struck creamy hard with the flat side of his sword. The butterfly grew angry, swiping a strong wing at him. _

_Defending himself with a shield, Cranius struck a final blow at creamy, killing it. The three went to Kera's house, the female novice offering to treat Cerberus's wounds with potions she collected. Cranius and Kera started laughing at him, the elder Twinedge imitating his brother's look of horror when the creamy emerged out of the pupa which he thought he had killed. These past memories were full of mirth then…_

Cerberus started up the stairs, tiptoeing to peep through the window. But it was very dim inside. Deciding that it would be ungracious of him to do so, he told himself to stay away. He sighed, as he remembered another incident when he assigned to a mission in the payon caves when he was still a swordsman then.

_Cerberus stood at the back of the damp cave with a partner working together with him, keeping watch on the passageway leading to level two of it. Severed halves of Familiars and Spores laid over their feet, every hostile demon that appeared were cleared by the two of them. _

"_Argh… ouch…"_

"_What now, Zeph?" Cerberus asked his partner._

"_No idea, my stomach's hurting like crazy."_

"_What did you eat again? For your swelling belly's sake, stop binging already. You're going to get kicked out if you're physically unfit."_

"_Damn, those condor wings must've been contaminated," his partner called Zeph recalled._

"_You can't be eating those without cleaning their toxic interiors!"_

"_Oh god… spare me a fly wing will ya? Ow! It's coming out! I need the toilet!"_

_Cerberus sighed, handing his partner a couple of fly wings._

"_Hurry back. I might not be able to hold off these decomposed dolts alone."_

_His partner Zeph teleported away, leaving him alone in the cave. The cave grew oppressive, and he knew the arrival of a new batch of demons was the cause of it. He readied his sword and shield, adjusting his helm so he could see through the slit clearly. Demons were indeed coming, but not his way. A scream around a corner spurred him into action. Cerberus sliced a snake blocking his path, then turn around a bend to see a group of seven zombies cornering a heavily wounded swordswoman._

_An acolyte was unable to offer her trapped friend sufficient help to kill the zombies, for she was drained from casting healing spells on her friend to keep her alive. Cerberus provoked the group of seven zombies, bashing one in the face with his shield and stabbed another simultaneously. The two he killed did not help much. The other five lunged at him, overwhelming him with punches and backhands. Desperate to keep his mission from failing, the aspiring swordsman sliced through the five with his recently mastered sword art, Magnum Break. _

_The group of seven zombies was defeated. Cerberus, feeling rather humid from the fight, removed his helm and went to inspect the cornered swordswoman who was out cold. She looked somewhat familiar… especially her beautiful locks of honey coloured hair. He brushed aside her hair, revealing his friend Kera's face. The slightly injured swordsman administered Kera a bottle of white potion, and colours started returning to her cheeks while she sobered._

"_Cerb!" she cried out in relieve, the traumatized swordswoman throwing a hug at him. Cerberus flushed with embarrassment when Kera's acolyte friend started giggling._

A slight wind fluttered his brownish cape, while he stood outside his childhood friend's house, staring at the rows of flowers planted outside. He suddenly heard a click of a lock, then the door opened. He wanted to run away or hide, but either way it was too late to do anything as he would definitely be seen.

A woman about his age emerged, holding a bottle of water. Even in the night, he made out of honey coloured hair of this lady. Her face was smooth beyond measure, her fringe covering past her eyebrows. Her lips always reminded Cerberus of the mischievous grins she used to flash him. How matured she had become, he thought. This was a stark contrast to the childish girl she used to be.

A little while after the zombie incident, when she was just promoted to become a crusader, Kera began to develop a crush on Cerberus. During that day itself, he was immediately appointed an official knight when his commander was told of his deed of valour. He was well aware of her feelings, yet he always pretended to be completely oblivious to it, either that or he would excuse himself. He wanted to devote his time to develop his career as a knight, so as not to disappoint his superiors' excellent impression of him.

"Cerberus? Is that you?"

He snapped out of his thoughts, looking at the casually dressed female crusader in the eye.

"I… I should leave," he stammered.

He turned to leave, but a soft hand held his arm back. He wanted to hide his face in his helm, for he felt his face heating up. Kera sniggered at him.

"You know, you're just as shy as before. Do come on in, unless you want to be bombarded with insults by those people," she offered with a mischievous grin.

"Fine, you win. But I'm telling you beforehand that I won't be staying for long," the knight submitted.

"That's better than nothing! Come in," she gestured to him.

The knight put away his helm and sword as he entered the same house he always visited many years ago. It was still as pleasant as ever; the fireplace by the corner providing just enough warmth and light. 'What am I thinking accepting her offer? Snap out of it, she's already engaged to Cranius!' he scolded himself.

"It has been half a year since we met! Sit down, while I get you something," she said, pointing to a couch. Kera returned a while later with a bottle of orange juice.

"A fine knight leader you've been… I envy the Avenger for having such a man to lead them."

Cerberus mustered a smile at her flattery.

"Don't speak so well of me so soon."

Kera put the bottle of orange juice down, her brows raised.

"Eh? What's wrong?"

"Skull's a wanted man now, and all of us had split to look for ways to stop the four. You've heard of them already, did you?"

"Well, yes. Prontera had to undergo a re-construction following their attack, right? How can I not know a matter of such importance? That aside, how'd Skull become wanted?"

"I didn't see it for myself, but everyone except Pay have been saying that he killed Galor during the battle with the four," he explained sourly, swallowing a mouthful of orange juice.

"And? He's… executed?"

"Nope, he escaped the prison. He even killed a guard in the process."

"He sure knows how to cross the king time and time again. What brings you here to Izlude today? The usual?" she asked, guessing that he came to visit his parents' grave again.

"That's one, I want to talk to Cranius about joining forces with Prontera. Unless the cities fight together, the chance to stop the four is very slim," he said, frowning deeply.

"I see, I know he detests your presence, let alone talking to him. I should talk to him –"

Cerberus held up a hand to stop her.

"Please do not trouble yourself, Kera. I can handle this."

"Have you forgotten about the pupa incident? Things might not turn out the way you expect," she replied, laughing softly as she pictured what happened.

"So… everything's going well for the two of you?" he inquired, even though he knew fully well that he was asking the obvious. Cranius did not love her at all, she was just a tool used to spite him, ever since the senior knight official found out her feelings towards Cerberus.

But before Kera answered, the door burst open forcefully, and in step Cranius with four heavily armed men standing behind him.


	22. The staff of soul

-22-

A splitting headache hit him when things began to focus before him. A street sign reading "Geffen Square ahead" had fallen off; buildings that had once been of importance to the wizards association now lay among the powdery rubble. The concentrated scent of sorcery that lingered seemed to dissipate, overwhelmed by the smell of smoke and cement.

'_I've already said something is wrong.'_

"What –"Sagi muttered.

'_Dark Lord!?'_

The four had left him, sparing his life. But why? Why did they keep mentioning about Dark Lord? What's with his necklace? So many questions… but the answers eluded him.

'_The scent of Dark Lord indeed. It's impossible.'_

'_What we sensed, is just a minute amount of essence.'_

He rubbed the dirt off his face, his mind still haunted by the four and their conversation. The wizard clutched at his necklace, touching it. It was smooth to the touch, the material made from it unknown. It looked like marble, but on the other hand it did not. The fierce glow that saved his life dimmed out, making the two rings look like any other common rings often seen at shops of merchants.

Sagi closed his eyes, trying to recall something about his parents. Even if it was a morsel of it, he would not give up. No matter how hard he concentrated, no memories, not that it was familiar to him, were recollected. Off to the street near the east entrance, a slight disturbance drew attention. It sounded something like a thud, then a loud groan of pain.

His first thoughts were the zombie masters. The wizard fumbled for his special potion mix, forgetting that he had consumed all of it to hold the zombie masters back. Whoever it was, likely a Geffen resident, sounded like he or she was captured by a zombie master. He conjured a simple thunder spell, directing it towards his target, which looked like a knocked out resident carried on a zombie master's shoulder.

The lightning spell seared the zombie master's back, sending him sprawling to the floor. Its victim too fell off him, lying face-first unmoving. Sagi saw an arrow imbedded into the back of the man, the shaft sticking out of his body. Not that he knew of zombie masters using bow and arrow, neither did the four, and the hunters in this city had all fell to death from the walls. His suspicions left him with one possibility; that there were intruders.

Before he went to examine the two though, he shrouded himself in a spell of energy coat to enhance his defences, his body clouded in a bluish aura. Readying a more advanced spell on his lips, Sagi crossed over to the east entrance, sighting a dead body on his way. The dead body was thoroughly disfigured, but he could distinguish him from the other corpse of wizards. This man was not wearing robes of any sort, instead he wore a breastplate with a Prontera logo on it. The cause of his death was obvious; a dagger was buried deep into the neck.

"Prontera high officials, huh," he observed.

The fact that these Prontera high officials often hunt by groups of two all the more made Sagi think that the armoured man whom he struck was not a zombie master after all. That man shouted out at intervals as the electricity conducted by the metal breastplate electrocuted him every now and then. Finding the black robed wizard the culprit, he raised his bow with the venom-tipped arrow nocked, and a quick Soul Strike by Sagi had him flinging his bow into the air, the remaining strikes blasting him backwards a few feet.

Sagi raised his hands in pretence, luring the beaten official into thinking that another spell, which might be stronger than the last judging from previous experiences, would have him dead. He yelled in defeat, making his departure through the east gate.

"Strong poison that is," Sagi murmured, detecting a whiff of foul odour from the arrow. He knelt beside the silver-haired man, a pair of Infiltrators giving him the impression that he was an assassin. Skull, to be exact. The black robed wizard produced a handful of green herbs and a flask green potion, measuring the suitable amount of green herbs needed to be mixed together with the potion. He once learned from herbology books that concocting a certain amount of herb with a potion of similar medical purposes could double the effect.

He uncorked the green potion flask, dumping half of the green herbs he took out into the potion. He inserted the cork and shook it gently, the new mixture bubbling up to the brim. Uncorking the flask again, he was satisfied that it did not overflow, an indication that he mixed in the right amount.

He worked his potion on the extremely pale assassin, the blood tainted from the fatal poison. Sagi knew this potion would only keep Skull alive temporarily; a priestess and a period of time for convalescing were necessary to completely heal his ailment. To think that you even became a wanted man, he thought.

As if on cue, two ladies, one of them a priestess, crossed the rickety east entrance and into the destroyed Geffen, their reactions similar to any other who found out about this carnage. The other was a female rogue, holding up a knife with a blade shaped like a money sign. He immediately found them to be…

No, he thought suddenly. As tempted as he was to call out for aid, the renegade wizard found himself thinking about the Overlords. And why was he actually helping Skull…

He dismissed the fleeting idea of leaving the poisoned assassin to die. Outside Prontera just this dawn, he had made his decision, made him chose his path. What did he stand to gain from killing each other? What would he get in return from listening to Tien's commands? Only one answer answered these questions, the destruction of his home. What's more, he would not be seeing Tien for a very long time. They needed to seek out the four and exploit their sinister plots, or whatever they were planning.

"Hey look! Isn't that man the baddie?"

Manald did not listen to what her rogue companion said. The silvered hair assassin dressed in pale purple attire had her leaping off the broken stairway of the entrance, running to where Sagi knelt with her gathering up the priestess dress to prevent her from tripping over. No questions had to be asked; the silver hair alone already told her that it was the person she sought.

Her joy quickly became despair when Sagi explained his condition to her, holding up the poison arrow he extracted to illustrate the seriousness of it. The wizard also instructed that she might need to expend almost all her healings abilities possible to purge the strong venom immediately, otherwise the chance to survive would be much tinier than a picky.

"Oh god! What have you done to him!?"

Sagi faced an angry Maraulea, but he kept silent. It was not wrong or unnatural that she would feel this way. He was responsible for all these troubled times after all…

"Please, Lea, I require full concentration to work my panacea. Like Sagi said he was attacked by the high officials, and the dead one there serves as evidence!" Manald declared.

"Sorry, then," the rogue said with a bitter look. "But he –"

The priestess's eyelids lowered in a glare, cutting out whatever her rogue friend intended to say. She began concentrating on the incantations of every healing spell available in her repertoire. White, curative energy formed upon each successive completion of a chant, the healing wave transferring into the assassin. Her left palm rested gently on his forehead, her right directing the flow of energy.

Skull moaned occasionally, that giving the priestess hope as he stirred slightly. His complexion was not ghostly white anymore, but still rather pale as the toxin was not entirely purged. Manald began weakening gradually, both physically and spiritually. She was not used to expending such tremendous amount of energy for healing purposes before; this was her first attempt. Determined nonetheless, Manald fought to keep the assassin alive.

-

-

-

'_When in trouble, use it.'_

Sagi looked for his house desperately, the wizard leaving the three alone when Manald started her spell casting. As curious as ever, the rogue tagged behind stealthily, hoping to catch him red-handed. She wanted to find out what this cynical wizard was up to this time, so she deemed.

'_You pass it by, yet it passes your eye.' _

This was what his mentor told him. The same man who took him in, Blek, once told him to possess the pride of his family, a grand item kept somewhere in the house. To unlock it, he needed to understand that little riddle. But no matter how obvious it might turn out to be, his hopes of finding it were dashed when he realized that almost every residential in Geffen were destroyed.

Nevertheless, he had to try. Blek said that when he faced inexplicable dangers, it might come in useful. This period of time might just be it, since the four started overrunning cities and ruining the once peaceful world of Rune-Midgard. Sagi crossed his fingers when he came out of a back alley, an archway leading to his house. Most of the houses here were not entirely damaged, much to his surprise. It was either charred, or it had broken doors and broken windows.

It seemed like his prayers aided him, when a familiar small house at the end of a row of houses looked rather intact. It was only charred slightly with smashed windows, the furniture and everything within damaged. He broke into a brisk walk, the black robed wizard standing before a brown door. The unforgiving sun baked his skin, augmenting the heat due to the colour of his robes.

But the excitement kept everything out of his mind. He let out a long breath, the sentence ringing out in repetition in his head. _'You pass it by, yet it passes your eyes…'_

He thought of things that he passed by often. If it was within his house, it should not prove too difficult to sort it out. But, what if it wasn't? Assuming the mystery to be within the house, he knew there was a thin, rectangular box hidden beneath the fireplace, magically locked. He tried various ways to unlock it, with magic or not. In the end, it proved useless. Blek assured him that the mystery is the only way to unlock it. So he had to give it up till he solved the mystery.

If its in the house, what I pass by most… wouldn't it be the entrance? he thought. He dropped to his knees, looking into loops and cracks, touching the threshold, basically everything he could see at the entrance. But, nothing happened. Maybe I should go in. The clue might be in there, he thought.

He wrapped his hands around the knob and turned it, unfortunately it won't turn. The door was probably stuck, since he did not remember it being locked in any way. He cast a few simple spells on it, thinking that he imposed a magical lock on it without knowing. Still, nothing happened. The wizard then smashed down on the golden knob in frustration with his fists, knocking the knob off. Then something gleaming was revealed in a small hole the knob covered.

He took the object in his hands, realizing it to be a key. A glowing key. So what if he had the key now? He needed to enter the house to get the case! He banged and kicked on the door, but it just would not open. It must have been wedged tightly with stones and debris.

He looked around for ways to go in as he walked around the perimeter of the house.

"Damn! Why am I so stupid," he muttered when he spotted the smashed windows. He heaved himself through the window, dropping himself clumsily onto the uneven floor awashed with debris. He kicked at a loose brick of the fireplace, and the contraption still worked despite the damage. The fireplace moved inwards deeper into the wall, revealing a black, rectangular case underneath. Sagi reached his quivering hands out, grabbing the case and laying it on his lap. The key he held shined so brightly that the outline of the key could not be seen when it neared the lock. Thrusting the key into the lock, the case opened without a noise.

The case sprang open, and what lied in was a grand looking long staff. Sagi ran his index finger along the grey shaft of the staff, silently admiring the mesmerizing shape and beauty of it. How proud was he to possess such a unbelievable item!

"The staff of soul…" he spoke out in awe. From his knowledge, only chosen and respected wizards of certain level of sorcery could wield this unpredictable staff. Unless the wielder masters the usage of it, it would be no different from a piece of useless wood.

The wizard stood up, the staff of soul in his hands still showing no portrayal of powerful magic within. He took a test swing backwards, knocking into something hard. Someone screamed behind him as he struck. The wizard readied a spell, preparing to attack the intruder who had crept up to him noiselessly. Who he saw, however, was Maraulea lying on the floor, her hands pressed against her bleeding nose. Sagi immediately swallowed back whatever spell he readied earlier.


	23. Tit for a tat

-23-

Pay waded through another wave of smoke, shooting down two unsuspecting sohees as the same time. The battle with these cave spawns kept him occupied, the hunter totally forgetting about his mother until he saw a neighbour dodging a pursuing zombie. The whereabouts or even the condition of his mother brought forth a concerned countenance. He hoped and prayed that she managed to run off to safety just like most of the townsmen did.

The "mad" falcon flew away from its master, swooping down to the aid of Pay's neighbour. It dived right into the zombie's face, stunning the foul undead upon the hard collision. Pay let loose an arrow, burying it deep into the side of its head.

"Thank you, Pay! I make sure you get a big discount whenever you patronize my shop!" the hunter's tool dealer neighbour called out.

"Where's my mother? Did you see her?" Pay replied frantically while taking down two bonguns.

"Oh, she was trapped in your house earlier, but a group of –"

"Quit telling stories and tell me where she is now!"

"She's outside with other townsmen."

Taking a moment to let his breath out of both relieve and exhaustion, a sohee from behind floated silently, driving a dagger into his upper back. A shout escaped his lips, the hunter now had to worry about himself more than his mother. His right shoulder had yet to heal completely, and now there was a new addition to his injuries.

His white tights underneath his hunter attire stained of red as blood continued flowing freely. The sohee shot her hands down for another stab, the dagger shimmering as it reflected the fire. Pay gave it a boot to the stomach in desperation, struggling to pull an arrow out of the quiver attached to his back. The injury made the turning of his arm backwards very painful, but he gritted his teeth as he pulled an arrow out, fitting it to his Arbalest.

Due to the close distance between them, the sohee was blasted backwards a considerable distance when the arrow flew. However, that was not over for him just yet. Another group of two sohees and a munak came for him with hands outstretched in an incoming attack. Despite his strong firepower, he was not able to take out all three at once. They were too close to him, and too fast……

He decided to take out the sohees first, since getting stabbed by their daggers prove more fatal than a backhand from the munak, though it was still powerful enough to knock someone out cold. A choice had to be made, after all. He let fly an arrow which went through the head of the nearest sohee.

Suddenly, try as he might, the injury in his back was too painful to take it. Each time he took out an arrow, the pain increased. He wanted to pull the quiver off his back, but by the time the sohee's dagger would have introduced another grave injury to his body. He shouted out for help, from the nearby defenders or anyone who could help. As if answering his pleas, two bolts whizzed past his head and struck the munak and sohee in the head.

"Now we're quits."

The hunter turned his head and saw Elemire standing before him gleefully, her head raised in a cocky manner. The hunter gathered himself back to his feet, muttering a thanks her way. He felt kind of weird to be saved by the opposing guild, by a huntress of all people. He wanted to ask her why did not leave him to die instead, but what she told him said it all. He kept her out of harm's way earlier at the entrance, and in return its right that she save him in his injured state.

"Are you leaving or something? Gosh, did someone punch five pairs of chopsticks into your back? Looks real… bad" Elemire asked when she saw the red stained tights.

"Leave me alone," Pay replied when he thought she was going to offer him assistance again. He did not want any help in the form of the Overlords, what was important now was to find his mother and kill off the remaining demons.

The fire that broke out at several places was under control by the more courageous townsmen who decided to stay and help rather than escaping. Pay was glad that there would not be a third round of constructions. The fact that Moonlight was not in sight somehow made Pay worry; this meant that this was just a trial attack by her, and many more attacks of such would continue to occur. The defenders were already fast dwindling, let alone handling more of these cave demons resurfacing sooner than the time taken to finish their dinner.

Pay tried his best to stay away from the demons. He was in no condition to fight, so that left him the option of looking for his mother, who was said to be among the townsmen near the Payon woods.

-

-

-

As he sat near the cave Tien had flashes of his guild mates who died in Geffen. He then thought about the future; what was going to happen to him? How would he proceed to destroy the Avenger? He thought of recruiting new members into his guild, training them, increasing their committee slowly along the way. But all these looked empty to him, looked pointless to him.

The monk could not bring himself to accept new members, since he had shared a bond with the dead members, even though he had been a tyrant. Moreover, the standard of people's way of combating was inferior as compared to his guild mates. Tien punched his fist onto the grass, recalling how they were killed. The four, especially the Doppelganger, was the main culprit. He had participated in the battle, taking it upon himself to kill relentlessly, his guild mates being his victims. His intentions of slaying the Avenger one by one was suddenly flung to the back of his mind. A fresh, new fury surged through his body while he vowed the elimination of Doppelganger. What must truly be avenged and destroyed right now, was the Doppelganger, the phantom swordsman…

-

-

-

"Mother! Did anything happen to you?"

"No, son, I escaped without a scratch. See? Nothing, no injuries," a woman in her forties reassured.

The crowd was easy to spot. Pay walked out of Payon, and a commotion already greeted him not far away to the woods. The injured lay in pain, the more medically inclined folks began administering potions and salves to ease their sufferings. Groups of people were scattered; the elderly chatted among themselves, arguing about how they should work the talisman charms to stop the demons, hunter associations organizing temporary shelters and coming up with strategies to overcome the cavern spawns.

"Mother, this place is not safe. I will take you west to Comodo, for that place is not under any form of threats for now. I wanted to take you to Prontera, but I fear the four might attack again," Pay suggested.

"You worry too much for me Pay, in fact I know what's best for me. Your father died defending this city, everybody here should contribute something to defend against these demons. Not excluding me."

"But Mother –"

"It's final,' she interrupted firmly. "Son, I always wanted you to stop wasting your time in your little guild and waste your youth away. You should join the Elite Hunter forces. This way you can protect me, and everyone else."

Pay slapped his hand against his forehead.

"I can't, Mother. You don't expect me to leave them just like that! Besides… besides… my stay here is temporary. Some time later I would be returning to Prontera."

"You're already twenty-one, son! What can you hope to achieve in a guild? Spare a thought for your future!"

Pay hung his head down in frustration. He did not like the way his mother force him out of the Avenger, but he had devoted so much into the guild, he could not leave just because his mother told him so.

"Sulking are you? You might not have a chance to even sulk when the Lord of Death tramples you to death!" Pay's mother continued on.

"Mother," he began. "I will only help the Elite Hunter forces, but joining them, is out of the question. I'm taking my leave."

After he turned to leave, he heard his mother shout out to him, something about his back injury. He took his quiver off his back with much effort, hanging it on his belt for easier withdrawal. He walked briskly while biting his lower lip to bear with the pain that coursed through his back. The smoke had thinned from the extinguishing of all the fire, providing him with better vision to work his Arbalest.

A few townsmen cheered after the fire was put out. Seeing the last score of demons remaining, he shot down one bongun, followed by a munak. Each shot thereafter became weaker gradually, for when he pulled the bowstring back, that certain angle still affected his back.

The hunter could not hold on any longer. He had to stop his attacks and look for treatment. Another wave of pain hit him, causing him to fall on his knees. Whatever movements he made had the pain acting up, his body sagging with weakness. Sounds of battle continued filling his ears; humming of bowstrings, whistling of arrows, an assortment of everything.

Cheers erupted in Payon when the Elite Hunter forces eliminated the final score of demons. But Pay did not witness the celebration, nor did he hear the excited conversations and shouts. He collapsed into a delirium.


	24. Unexpected visitor

-24-

The bottle of orange juice fell from his hands, clattering onto the floor with the orange liquid pooling. Cerberus stood very still, staring unblinking at his brother and the four armed guards who barged into the house without any notice whatsoever. A dead silence settled over the house. The only sound produced were the crackling of the small fire in the fireplace.

Cerberus's intension of probing into the relationship of his brother and Kera had been rudely interrupted, and dashed. Cranius's arrival was uncalled for; this made both knight and crusader rather uncomfortable. Cranius watched the two with arched eyebrows. Then, pointing the knight leader of Avenger and made a circling motion with his index finger, the three of the guards went for him.

Cerberus wanted to brandish his two swords to fend for himself, but he would not. By opposing the guards would meant more hatred from the citizens, and more trouble would probably prevent him from contacting his childhood friend again. Moreover, he was used to being roughly handled by these Izlude guards whenever he entered the city. Yet, little did he know that things were not the same this time…

"Take him and lock him up," came the command from the imposing figure of Cranius. The man had straight black hair that almost reached his shoulder, dangling loosely past his ears. He wore a simple breastplate that rightly showed his muscular frame. A broadsword hung on his belt stopped clanking against his thigh ever since he had stomped into the house.

That command left Cerberus fumbling for his sword at the last minute, but still it was too late. Two of the guards each held an arm, the third securing a ball'n'chain around the ankles of the knight. The fourth guard stopped Kera from reaching out to the struggling Cerberus, knowing full well that the crusader would object to his lord's decision and help free the knight.

Upon a sharp command by Cranius, the fourth guard released her and went to hold Cerberus still. A click indicated that the ball'n'chain had been secured, and the knight was barred from any form of hostile behaviour.

"Exercise your fists and feet a little. Go on! What are you waiting for!?" Cranius ordered.

The four jumped on the knight and started pounding him, four pairs of hands and legs landing brutal assaults on him. His face was contorted in agony; the knight could only stay down and let the guards beat him senseless. When the assault stopped temporarily, his mouth started bleeding from a loosened tooth and a cut on his lower lip.

Cranius stepped forth just in time to stop his fiancée from assisting the thoroughly beaten knight. He grabbed her by the throat, pulling her closer to him.

"What now, my love? Heartbroken at your sweetheart's state? Huh!?"

"Cranius get your filthy hands away from her!" Cerberus shouted in fury, seeing his brother mistreat Kera. But he was ignored completely. The knight struggled violently, only to receive more vicious punches.

The female crusader glared at Cranius balefully, looking as if she was about to slam a fist in his face.

"Stop this nonsense! What do you think you're doing locking him up in prison!? Its not like he broke a law! And ask your dogs to get away!"

"Is this how you talk to your would-be husband? Being the Lord Cranius I am, I arrest anyone I desire, and nobody in the world can question me. Not even you, my love," he whispered with a hint of sarcasm.

"Damn you, Cranius! Don't think I don't know what you're up to. You know, if I had a choice, I would run away from the wedding, and away from this abomination standing before me!" Kera screamed.

"Now, now, my love. Your beloved sweetheart, he would be locked up as long I deem fit, and the period depends on your behaviour," he said running his hand down her cheek. "Why are you stopping? Carry on!"

The guards launched another series of punches and kicks on the chained up knight, rendering him unconscious before they stopped. As if to join in the "fun" as well, Cranius took the glass bottle lying on the floor and smashed it on the knight's skull. Blood trickled down the side of his head upon the impact. The four guards hauled him up, dragging him out of the house towards the direction of the prison.

Kera's hand was coming down on her fiancé's face, but Cranius grabbed her wrist reflexively, squeezing it tightly.

"Now don't try anything silly, my love. Something untoward might happen to your sweetheart. Our big day isn't too far from now, you should wipe away that grumpy look."

With that said the lord of Izlude landed a rough kiss on Kera. She squirmed, pushing away the strong knight while averting her gaze defiantly. Cranius's laughter rang around the house while he made his departure. The female crusader sat dejected, a single tear running down her smooth face. "How did it come down to this…" she murmured.

-

-

-

The knight sat up groggily, his whole body aching terribly from the harsh beating he received earlier this night. He wanted to check the time, but there were no windows or any openings where he could see the sky. His head throbbed painfully as he felt a nasty cut near his temples. He hardly remembered if something smashed his head hard…

Cerberus felt something was amiss; something about his body. He looked at himself. He was wearing a plain, loose t-shirt he usually wore beneath his armour. That reminded him… his armour was gone! He had been stripped, leaving only his boots. He quickly checked his other equipments; his belt, potions, daggers… and most importantly his two trusted sword that he felt at ease if he held it. However, it was gone too. Everything he had carried was stripped off him! He began to realize why his burden felt so light…

Maybe they put it away in the corner or something, he thought. He searched the four corners of his cell, digging and throwing the hay, hoping to see a glint of metal or even his potions. There was nothing but more hay. The shuffling noise of hay caused crude complains from both awakened prisoners and guards.

A strangled cry from outside his cell had him crawling to the bars. He peered towards the source of it, and sure enough, a guard lay unconscious on his desk. A lone swordsman with blonde hair worked on the guard's belt, detaching the ring of keys. He did look like a swordsman, but there was a certain, unusually immense prowess within him. The swordsman delayed no further when he got the keys. It was as if he knew the keys assigned to each cell better than the guard.

The lock of Cerberus's cell clicked open with the first try. The swordsman, with a side of his fringe hanging past his eyebrows, entered and closed the door rather… quickly.

"Who… are you?" the knight croaked inaudibly, shrinking away from the bizarre swordsman.

"I'm the Dop –"he paused after leaking out the first syllabus of his identity accidentally. "Oh sorry, my name is Doppie. Doppie Vuvuboo. Yeah… I suppose you are Cerberus?"

"I am. What do you want of me? And why are you doing this?" the knight asked dubiously, pointing at the unconscious guard.

Doppie ran a hand through his hair before he spoke.

"Look, if you think I'm being Mr. Nice-Guy and get you out of jail, think twice. I'm here to convey three messages. First, I do not like conversing with a man with dried blood all over his face. Clean it up, mister knight."

Doppie brought out a bottle of water and a piece of cloth, placing it before Cerberus.

"Go on, clean. In case you have no energy to talk," the blonde swordsman said, and brought forth some meat.

"What exactly do you want? I do not need your pity," Cerberus asked, reaching a hesitant hand to take the cloth.

"Like I said, I will convey three messages. When I'm done with the next two, I will naturally leave. This place is pathetic anyway. Clean and eat in peace, I promise you that I did nothing to the water and your food," Doppie replied calmly after noticing the doubt Cerberus had for him.

Cerberus rinsed the piece of cloth and began dabbing the wound on his head. He realized that he had several nasty bruises on his body as well. Taking the bottle of water in his hand that was covered in scratches and abrasions, he drank two mouthful of it and poured the remaining over his bloody face.

"Now that's neater," Doppie said with a smile. He waited until the knight started on his food, then he started on his second message.

"Secondly, your brother Cranius, also the lord of Izlude, had been thinking that he _may_ release you. But, there's a condition attached to it."

Cerberus wanted to ask this stranger with an equally strange name how he knew these matters as though he was spying on him all the while. But he knew the answer Doppie would give him, that he had three messages to convey and it was obvious that this swordsman would disclose nothing more. He listened silently, wolfing down the piece of meat he was given.

"Now, he wants to challenge you to a one-on-one duel. No cheating whatsoever. It will commence two hours after dawn breaks. If he wins, you will do to his bidding, and you shall remain in prison for as long as he wants to. If you win, then you may get out of jail and exit this city peacefully."

Cerberus took a while to assimilate this ridiculous event. What in the world is Cranius thinking? The knight never lost a battle to his brother before, as far as he knew. If he wanted a duel now, it is obvious that there is a catch to it…

"May I ask what might be the time?"

"Two hours before dawn breaks," Doppie said as he watched the knight intently.

"That's four more hours…" Cerberus muttered.

"I'm thinking you're thinking what I'm thinking," the swordsman spoke in conundrum.

"Huh?"

"I'm saying, we two might be thinking of the same thing."

"And what is it?"

"That there is a motive to the duel. He did not defeat you once in a one-on-one before, am I not right?"

Cerberus resisted his surprise when Doppie literally read his mind. He did not see this swordsman anywhere before, definitely not among the Izlude swordsmen. He thought he resembled someone he once fought. But this was not the time to reminisce. There was a matter of importance he needed to settle, and that was his release from prison and the duel. And Kera's marriage…

"That man is a beast. To think Kera has to marry this damned brother of mine! This might not had happened if I did not delay her on purpose and play stupid, pretending that I was unaware of her feelings. Now she's going to suffer under him," he said, clenching a shaky fist.

Doppie raised a brow.

"I'm not here to listen to lovey-dovey bedtime stories, knight. As I have said earlier, the lord of Izlude harbours a motive. Let me tell you this," he lowered his voice. "Cranius Twinedge has with him the twin blades, Cerberus."

The knight's eyes widened in realization. So that was why his knightly accoutrements and the two swords were taken away from him! And that was why he was beaten up and locked up in the first place! Anger began swelling up inside him, pumping up, growing…

"The Fireblend and Ice Falchion my father left me… Cranius _stole_ it!? Tell me honestly, how did you know all these?"

"Aye, as for the third piece of news, knight," he said, ignoring Cerberus's question. "The previous news might prove an unpleasant one, I suppose. But this one is something pleasant, I promise."

Doppie unbuckled the broadsword hung on his belt and presented it to him.

"Take this. It might prove useful in tomorrow's battle."

"This is your's. I will not accept your charity," the knight retorted firmly.

"Who said this was mine? Let me tell you this. Since your two elemental swords were stolen, there is nothing you can find here that can successfully hit Cranius's armour that protects him with enchantments of the Ghostring."

Doppie took the broadsword and drew it out of the sheath. To Cerberus's shock, that was not any other broadsword he expected it to be. The nondescript broadsword began to undergo transformation. A chain flowed out of the hilt from nowhere, the hilt itself turning from a plain grey to black. The blade underwent the most dramatic transformation, the straight blunt blade became rectangular with the right side jagged, an unholy purplish glow emanating from the dark sword.

"Its called Talefing. Take this to your battle tomorrow, and win gloriously."

Doppie spoke a command, and the dark sword transformed into a normal looking broadsword once again. Sheathing it back, he threw it by Cerberus's feet. He took the ring of keys and walked out, locking the cell door with a click. Cerberus thought the guard might jump at the sound, but apparently he was still unconscious. The blonde swordsman attached the ring of keys back to the guard's belt, using a butterfly wing to transport himself out of this place.


	25. Desire for the Intelligence

-25-

"How might the Intelligence Trait taste like…? I'm sure its better than swallowing tarous."

Abyss ignored Storm's comments as both superiors traversed the Mjolnir hills. It was past dusk and they had reached the outskirts of these mountainous regions. Both of them left the Mjolnir pits this evening, heading westwards to the dreaded kingdom of Glast Heim, said to be the bastion before the world of the restless dead and the tormented souls.

This grand kingdom of the dead, situated at the west of Rune-Midgard, had attracted many adventurers to hunt down the Dark Lord and Baphomet. Those brave enough to intrude the grounds of these formidable duo ventured in, but till today, none made it out alive. Even before they caught sight of these two, the overwhelming abominations from the oppressive depths of Glast Heim dungeons were more than enough to clear off the trespassers.

The damned, distorted living corpse roam the churches, castles, dungeons, every dark labyrinth you could ever imagine. Fierce and merciless spirits like Whispers glide like the wind, brushing people's neck with a chill running down their spine. The corrupted priests called Evil Druid, the ghostly horse Nightmare, Brilight beetles and a variety of zombies served in the corrupted, insane kingdom of Glast Heim.

"We're nearing. I can smell… did you smell it Abyss? The rotten flesh of zombies and the tainted wind! Mysts are nearby," Storm talked excitedly.

"I am well aware myself, announcer," Abyss said in a raspy voice.

Storm waded through thick vines hanging down from tall, but dead trees. He wriggled his nose as it became more sensitive to the stench of Glast Heim. He suddenly turned very serious.

"Stay back, Abyss. I think I sense the split of Dark Lord himself, the Dark Illusion."

Both superiors remained out of view, surveying the area silently for the Dark Illusion was almost as tough a nut to crack as Dark Lord if found. Sure enough, a purplish apparition with a fluttering cape patrolled the woods, looking behind thick trunks and over shrubs for signs of intruders. Storm and Abyss realized by the Dark Illusion's behaviour that they were out of the Mjolnir boundaries, and crossed into the woods not too far east from Glast Heim.

The Dark Illusion, a floating skeletal figure with purplish glow, wore black armour and a purple cape imprinted with a shining symbol of a star within a circle. A dark aura beneath his floating form flared an eerie light, it looking more fearful in the night. Apparently sensing no one, it headed westwards back to the castles, to report his findings to the Dark Lord. The Dark Illusions were also known to be the Dark Lord's most trusted right hand men, yet brutal and formidable when ending a life.

Storm and Abyss came out of their hideout when they were positive that no beings from the Glast Heim were patrolling or guarding the vicinity. Both knights avoided the leafy paths, for they would be found out from the noisy crunching. Yet, they could not risk travelling the main trails. Demons from Glast Heim usually took these paths when sent off to reconnaissance purposes.

Because of these two factors, the journey to the kingdom of the undead proved difficult and cumbersome. At first Abyss objected when Storm produced a fly wing, saying that he would not succumb to mortal ways of transportation which was of great insult.

"You can't use any of your abilities here, let alone teleportation. Baphomet and Dark Lord would be able to sense the presence of a superior."

Storm was not wrong; the demons of Glast Heim would already sense the utilizing of great powers, then identifying it as superiors intruding the kingdom. If they used a fly wing, things might not appear to be as obvious. They had no choice…

Abyss accepted a fly wing reluctantly from the blue knight, crushing it in his palm. The world spun madly, going at faster speed each moment. Abyss was dumped onto a slight down slope, the ebony knight rolling his way down, eventually crashing into a grey mossy wall.

Cursing Storm for making him travel through a disastrous fly wing, he began to look around frantically for Storm. However, a myst was what that greeted him first. The crash might have awakened the undead kingdom. If it did not, this myst would send signals to announce the arrival of a superior. It had to be silenced for good. Drawing out his black sword in a swift movement, he slapped the flat side of the blade to the shield it was holding, sending it dropping off the insubstantial arm of the ghostly myst. He then proceeded to thrust the sword in between what appeared to be eyes. Since his sword thrust into nothing but air, he readied another blow, which was unnecessary. The myst dissipated as it died.

Scolding himself for his stupidity that the sword could touch anything, including ghostly demons, he looked around again for Storm and signs of other Glast Heim demons. He abandoned the latter when it looked like the coast was clear for the moment. Abyss began his ascend up the slope, but a telepathic message came to him suddenly.

_We'll contact this way, Abyss_. _Don't bother going up, I'm already through the entrance, _Storm's voice rang.

_Fine._

Abyss peeked around the area, making sure that no demons were nearby. He spotted a bluish gleam ahead of him, and he let the problem of Storm's whereabouts drift off his mind. He increased his pace, catching up with the blue knight who had just slain another myst.

_Didn't you mention that we should not use powers of any form? _Abyss communicated.

There was a slight pause, then Storm replied, but verbally.

"We can communicate verbally for now. Unless we're together, we make use of telepathy to keep in contact. And this is just communication, not use of physical powers."

Abyss nodded in understanding, taking the lead. They scaled walls instead of traversing openly through gates and stairways, using the looming dead trees as cover whenever necessary. But, no matter how cautious they tried to be, they encountered mysts along the way, which was quickly slain to prevent the sending of their signals. This was not a bad thing, considering that they did not have to meet demons of stronger abilities and more menace, a Dark Illusion, for instance.

"Our current destination?" Storm asked.

"We have to survey both Dark Lord and Baphomet, then we formulate something to seize their Intelligence Trait. So this makes our destination _different_," Abyss said after a quick thought.

"I'll go for Baphomet, so I'm headed for the castles. Remember, contact through this," Storm decided, pointing to the side of his head while he spoke.

Abyss flexed his chest out, then went off to the Glast Heim graveyard wordlessly.


	26. Keeping his cool

-26-

"We need an experienced contingent of constructors though, and most importantly, an overseer to ensure a smooth operation."

"I'm well aware of these, and guess what? You're officially appointed as the overseer. As for the extra work forces required, maybe you might consider employing the services of Kegar's blacksmiths."

"What, me? Is this final?"

"Yes, I've gave it some thought, and you'll be the man behind this. Why don't you contribute you and Smith's very own Fiendbane Enforcers?"

"What!?"

"I'm sure Smith won't mind too much."

"But the Fiendbanes aren't a force of construction workers!"

"Relax, bud. This is just a mere suggestion. From what I heard the famed Fiendbanes are not too bad at craftsmanship and building works!"

"And how embarrassing it would be for them to be reduced to mere workers slogging for a meagre wage."

Larzen was headed for the barracks, recalling the conversation he had with the king earlier this evening. The tall warlord had just came out of Kegar, the blacksmith department chief's camp to request for additional forces for the construction of a pipe system during the re-construction of certain places in Prontera.

The fair capital city of Rune-Midgard was now a city of hammering and snowing wood chips. Wooden ladders were stacked against walls, the workers atop of it hammering nails to secure a particular block of wood to cover holes or damages, before painting it. A few supervisors patrolled their assigned areas, hollering instructions to angle whatever the workers were hammering properly, either that or they were shouting for extra tools from other idling workers.

Another exhausted day of work was finally over. Workers packed their construction tools lazily, a handful of them ignoring their supervisor's instructions to clear the area of dirt before taking the night off, much to their frustration. At last, the city was quiet when night descended. The gradual hammerings, drilling and loud clattering of ladders that had annoyed the already unease residents stopped as the workers headed home for a hearty dinner and rest.

Larzen recognized his barracks where the Fiendbanes and the two Prontera Warlords stayed. The Fiendbane Enforcers, a famed phalanx of cold-hearted warriors acting under the orders of both warlords, carried out their works in ninja suits veiling their whole body except for the eyes, leaving a slit open for sight. Everyone in Prontera knew very well how this not-to-be-underestimated group worked during their objectives. They would score a hit on the opponent's heart with their Muramasa, then ripping it out with a quick dig and a rough yank.

Not only did they prove their valor and worth in battle, they had great deal of knowledge on mechanism and blacksmithing. It was little wonder the king very much wanted them to aid in the plan Larzen brought up early this morning. The tall warlord spotted Smith by the barrack entrance, then he sighed in content as he did not have to comb the barracks to look for the warlord who was always on the go.

"Yo, Smith. We need to discuss something."

The white bearded warlord looked up to see Larzen looming over him with a grin on his face. For a moment he thought it was some sort of mockery.

"I'm waiting for the supervisors to report today's progress. They should be here any moment, so make this snappy big man."

"The king's wanting our men to work on the underground business," Larzen went straight to the point quickly as instructed.

"Our men? Fiendbanes is it?"

"Exactly. The king's saying that they might help with their knowledge, speeding up the process."

Smith's frown deepened, the dwarf-like warlord stroking his thick beard.

"This… Fine. I'm sure it won't pose too much problem. However –"

"What?" Larzen interrupted eagerly.

"Let me finish! If battle ensues, we would have to withdraw them from the works."

"Yes, definitely."

"Those damned supervisors are taking too far long! If you have more to say, leave it till I return."

Smith strode off to the nearest construction site, shouting out for an exasperated supervisor who was intimidating and threatening to axe a worker for failing to nail a board fimly, ending up being nailed on the head by the loose board. Meanwhile, Larzen stood by the entrance smiling to himself, his mind began forming plan after plan, and how fine would things be with the Fiendbanes working on it. Then, a sudden crash across the street snapped him from his reverie. Another loose wooden board fell from the top, clipping the livid supervisor's ears. He shook his head at the the poor worker's fate that he was going to suffer.

-

-

-

The black robed wizard walked among the large garden of a very small settlement by the name of St Caprina, a place where aspiring monks went to be promoted to become a full-fletched monk.

As he expected, he drew suspicious gazes wherever he went, mostly monks. On top of that, he saw acolytes and other passer bys talking in low tones, whispering negative comments to each other about this renegade wizard who was heard to possess unnaturally strong powers. A few monks even claimed boldly that he was working for the Dark Lord himself, and his presence here was not welcomed.

The wizard knew of this taboo against him in almost every town. But he chose to eschew from them, pretending that they did not exist as usual. Deciding not to cause any more unnecessary disturbance among the peaceful settlement located far east of Geffen, he left the gardens and headed for the infirmary. He was told by Manald during their journey that his concoction had made her job simpler, for the strong herbal drink had stopped the flow of toxin in his body. If she was to expend all her energies without the mixture, Skull might not have survived. He began to feel a different sense of satisfaction that he felt whenever he cast a spell successfully. His knowledge on herbs had proved useful this time…

The two rings made a soft jingling noise as it swayed gently. The Staff of Soul he carried with him granted him a greater sense of satisfaction, the touch of it seemed to enhance his already immense powers. The two rings glowed mildly in the presence of the staff, as if it were just as glad as Sagi was upon retrieving it. The Staff of Soul was about ten inches longer than a normal walking stick, reaching up to Sagi's shoulders from level ground. Red ribbons were tied loosely around the smooth silver shaft, and atop it a magnificent blue crystal ball was flanked by a pair of what looked like folded angel wings. It was just so pleasing to the eye, and to the feel as well. The monks and other passer bys stared at his new possession in fascination.

Maraulea watched the limb form dressed in pale purple cloak laying on the bed, the rogue jabbing a stick playfully at his ribs. Apparently awakened by her, the assassin made a weak attempt to ward off the disturbance. Maraulea merely giggled at his reaction, continuing the jabbing in the ribs. The assassin began groaning incoherently, forcing the red haired rogue to lean closer.

"What? What? You wanna say something?"

An unintelligible reply came out, the rogue completely comprehending nothing. The annoyed threw away the stick, turning her attention on the weak assassin who had just awoke.

"What do you want? Water? Food? Or even… _her_?"

"None!" he finally croaked out. "I… I was sa… saying where is… is this place?"

"Oh, you should've said so earlier. I did not understand what you were mumbling about, Mister Immuonnas. We're at St Caprina, home of monks I suppose," she answered.

"Why? How –"

"Yes! Thisistheparti'vebeenwaitingfor! Let me start from scratch. By the time me and Manald reached Geffen, we saw you lying there with Sagi tending to you," she began launching into a story, talking quickly and excitedly. She described how worried the priestess was when she was told of Skull's condition, how the poison in his body was temporarily stopped by Sagi's potion and how Manald took over and spent large amount of her healing energy during the purging process.

Skull gave up, leaving the talkative rogue to complete her story. He had no intension and was too weak to stop her. When Maraulea came to the healing part, she began emphasizing and hinting about the priestess, but Skull merely shrugged in disregard.

"Where's both of them now?" he asked in a complete sentence, after he felt strength returning to him.

"You don't have to ask indirectly, you know? The wiz went off to the gardens, and Manald is recuperating from exhaustion in this same infirmary. I could help you there –"

"Give me some water," Skull interjected rudely.

"Fine," she shot back in slight disappointment, handing the assassin a bottle of water.

After emptying the bottle of water, he saw the rogue opening her mouth to say something, but he stopped her with a hand raised.

"Don't tell me now that this water is purified by _her_ and sent to me. I'm off," he said firmly, but with a hint of sarcasm.

"At least change into something proper, Immuonnas. You don't look pleasant this way, tattered and torn."

Skull grabbed the fresh cloak from her hands, removing the bloody and torn cloak he was wearing. He felt revitalized; the gut wound he had earlier and the whip he received were all closed. For some reason, he felt grateful this time, even though he rarely showed it when others helped him in previous experiences. At first he intended to look for the priestess to thank her, but it was not his nature to portray all these emotions. Maybe he would just let it pass…


	27. Invading the orc camp

-27-

A lone Drainliar fluttered about at the back of the pit, the torches illuminating its red wings. It went away from sight when a massive silver knight returned, not excluding other smaller fiends like the Tarou. The Lord of Death tied Silver to a corner of the chamber, then flexed his bulging arm muscles. As he stretched, the crack of his bones echoed through the cavern.

He sat with eyes closed, thinking ahead of things. Abyss and Storm had left Death earlier this evening, heading to Glast Heim to seize the Intelligence Trait without delay, as instructed by him. The two's absence suddenly brought about a heavy silence in the pit, besides the scratching of a Tarou's nail against the floor, or the flapping of a Drainliar's wings.

Death paced the floor of the small chamber, heaving a sigh, one of impatience. He had already laid out plans to assassinate the Orc Lord and the Orc Hero, whoever possesses the Strength Trait and leads the orc forces. He looked at his thick, muscular arms, then at his torso. Yes, he was in top shape, his massive frame portraying nothing but sheer supremacy. But was this actually enough? He may be one of the most outstanding superiors among the aristocratic demons, but the Dark Lord and Baphomet somehow made him feel smaller. He needed much more, to make up for whatever inferiority he felt in him.

The great silver knight was to work with the Doppelganger, and head south past Geffen to the orc camp. At first he yearned for the quick return of the phantom swordsman, but a fleeting idea slowly became elaborate in his head. Half the Strength Trait seemed insufficient. If he was to absorb the Strength Trait all by himself, not only would he be usurping control over the orc forces, the power he had in his hands would develop inconsiderably. Now the problem was whether he could steal it all by himself without the Doppelganger sticking to him every moment. But he did not worry one bit, for he had the whole night to think it through…

Death spun around suddenly when he sensed a distortion in the air. A young boy with blonde hair emerged from a cone of light, the diaphanous form walking up to him at ghostly speed. His walk alone was more than enough to outrun the fittest knight in the Prontera army. The great silver knight raised a brow dubiously.

"I expected you to return the next morning since you know no limits when it comes to gallivanting."

Doppelganger ran a hand through his messy blonde hair after the butterfly wing flight.

"Hmm… are you hiding something around here? Or are you just not happy to see me around?"

"That was what you said, wasn't it? Returning only the next morning. We have an important task at hand!"

"Sheesh, I said _latest_ by tomorrow morning, big knight. Isn't it good that I returned early? We'll bust the orcs wide open tonight. The night is the best time to assassinate a person, that's what you normally see or read about. Am I not right?"

"What business have you in Izlude?" Death probed.

"Sword-shopping for Storm," the swordsman replied innocently.

"In that case, get ready, Mister Vuvuboo. It won't be long till we march for Orcville."

-

-

-

"It sure looks pretty bad," Doppelganger commented when the two marched past Geffen. "Work of your zombie masters."

Death rode on silently, his mind concentrating on the assassination of the two orc leaders, abstaining himself from side distractions. But in actual, he was focusing on means to keep Doppelganger away while he hunted for the Trait solely, absorbing it for himself. Of course, Doppelganger did not bother about his silent and grim partner, neither was he aware of his plans. The phantom swordsman marvelled at the ruins of Geffen, occasionally straying off to other fanciful sights, only to be yelled by Death to stay in track.

"You better tie Silver somewhere before we barge into the orc camp. This big animal's hooves alone could've waked the dead in the depths of Glast Heim!

Death raised a hand to stop proceeding any further.

"We draw near the camp. Don't wander away or go off on your own while I tie Silver."

The great silver knight made this sentence more to refrain the phantom swordsman from seeking the Strength Trait on his own, rather than being genuinely worried that he might go off to gallivant. He started to be very sensitive to Doppelganger's every movement, some time along the way he even had a notion that Doppelganger might share his same intensions, much to his worry and caution. Finding a suitable tree, he tied his mount around the thick trunk.

Death let out a breath of relieve when he found the swordsman where he last left him, absent-mindedly chopping the grass as he sat. Uttering a call to indicate that he had safely tied Silver, the two continued southwards on foot, sighting for signs of an orc along the way. But they found nothing. No orcish footprints, no stentorious breathings, nothing was found.

"Quiet down now, back there Silver indicated that the Orcville is within a hundred yard radius," the massive silver knight jerked a thumb to where he tied Silver.

Doppelganger nodded without a word, tip-toeing to catch a glimpse of an Orcville structure, a brown igloo-like structure with a staircase leading downwards into the basement of the orc dungeon, where masses of undead orcs and skeletons roam about. Recalling about previous adventures in the orc territory, he began to whisper to his partner that the main orc camp lay beyond the orc dungeon, while sentry camps were established around the orc dungeon.

And sure enough, a pair of orc sentries was in sight. The two hulking figures stood very still, which made Doppelganger suspect that they were sleeping while standing. He wrestled with temptation and curiosity to confirm his hunch, Death laying a restraining hand on him.

"Do not even try, and do not underestimate them even though they appear unintelligent. We are within their sight. If they turn around, we would be found out."

They were taking small steps forward on a small trail leading to the sentry camp, while dense woods flanked the path. Doppelganger crossed his hands, looking at his partner questioningly.

"What?"

"I'm not much of a strategist, but I suggest you hide in these shrubs now. I'll take them on," the swordsman said confidently.

"I will allow nothing of the sort," Death retorted in a deep voice.

"Shh! You'll wake them! I wasn't serious when I said that, and let me do the luring. Hide yourself, big knight!"

Death grunted his approval unwillingly. Before the great silver knight went for the shrubs though, an idea struck him abruptly. He could "lure" Doppelganger to absorb the Strength Trait all by himself…

"Doppelganger, after the two sentries are done with, we will part. I will use the woods as cover while I keep a lookout for their main leader, Orc Lord."

The swordsman nodded his agreement in his excitement of his plan. He did not think that being a thinker for once was not too bad, he could put forth his brains into use after all. Making sure that Death was well-hidden, he stalked nearer to the two unmoving sentries, then hid himself in the plantations. Finding a long twig, he took an aim, and hurled it towards one of the two's head.

A smug crossed the blonde swordsman's face when the first phase of his plan succeeded. The twig knocked against the back of a sentry's head, snapping him up from his nap. The irritated sentry glanced around him. Noticing no one, he slapped his hands on his partner's back.

"Wake up durned fool! Somebody here! Intruder throw stick at me!"

The other sentry began arguing with his partner, assuring him that he was imagining things.

"No! I sure that somebody here! Better check."

The two sentries, awakened by a disturbance from a twig, began strolling down the path, peering over the bushes to spot the culprit. But they found no one. The sentry who awoke after the first started launching into loud, crude shouts that he was right; nobody was here, and he was imagining things!

"Listen to your friend for once, green skinned fool," a voice belonging to those of a teenage boy spoke out.

"Who there!? Show yourself!"

Doppelganger came dashing out of the shrubs, one of the sentry's fist smashing into a shadow of him.

"Catch me if you can!" he said as he stole a hit on a sentry's back. Confusing both sentries by creating more shadows with his dash, he scored a vicious slash on the first sentry's vital organ. He grunted as he clutched his chest area, then fell limb onto the ground.

The unexpected death of the remaining sentry's partner distracted him for an instant. But that instant was more than enough for the ghostly swordsman. His sword arm went in and out the orc sentry's heart less than a split second, and another limb form lay beside the first.

Shaking his head as if this task was a child's play to him, he wiped his scimitar of the orc blood.

"You may come out now, big knight."

No answer came. Doppelganger went over to where Death last hid, peering over the shrubs. But nobody was there. He's sure eager for some orc meat, he thought. He had no time to contemplate any further, when he suddenly remembered that his next task was to assassinate the Orc Hero and absorb the Strength Trait. He then let out his breath in realization and surprise. He was going to indulge in it all by himself!

-

-

-

Death stepped out of the shrubs at silently as possible, so as not to cause even a slight rustle. It was not his nature to underestimate even the most inferior of creatures, so he took precaution nonetheless. The panorama of the sentry camp gave him the knowledge that not many orc sentries were on duty this night; two of them had been taken out by his swordsman partner, leaving the already few number sentries patrolling the area. The orcs were certainly foolish for letting their guard down tonight…

The sentry camp was not what Death sought. The great silver knight wished he had his horse here, to provide him with a farther view of things atop the tall steed. Then, he spotted another path further down where he was, which was guarded by two sentries who were, unfortunately, wide awake. The two had orcish sword hung at their sides, hands clasped readily on the hilt if danger arises. Deciding to hide himself once again, he began crossing out the idea of barging down the path that looked likely to lead him to the Orc Lord's camp, since it was guarded.

He thought fast, dismissing ideas that would draw the sentries to sound an alarm, alerting the whole camp into action. Time was not on his side, so he had to risk his latest plan. He circled around the shrubs to draw nearer to the guards, then began rustling the bushes slightly with his great sword drawn.

As he expected, the two alert guards would not be likely to alarm the whole camp over a slight disturbance. They withdrew their orcish sword with a soft ringing sound and walked briskly to where he hid. He readied his sword…

At the instance when the two peered over the shrub, a flash of the shimmering silver sword blinded them briefly, then the lethal blade swung to lop two green heads off. He had no time to admire his work. Death made sure that no other sentries were around, then he crept down the path surprisingly silent, considering his bright and easily distinguished form in the night.

-

-

-

Three sentries lay dead in an awkward position, Doppelganger tip-toeing to sight a larger camp that marked the main camp, where the Orc Hero was. Noticing a significantly larger camp of different colour a few feet from the orc dungeon, he literally relocated himself right in front of the camp, not one sentry noticing that he had just dashed past them. They could only assume that their sleepy eyes were playing tricks on them.

The phantom swordsman leaned forward, placing his eyes properly so he could see through the thin slit in between the flaps. He almost cried out triumphantly when he made out the extremely brawny Orc Hero by his trademark headgear; a golden headband with long strips of gold attached to it, the gold strips shooting up over his head. From what he heard, this was the symbol of the hero among the orcish society. Moreover, the Orc Hero was physically and significantly taller and larger than any other normal orc soldiers. Apparently he had the brains other than brawn too, for he was also treated as the strategist.

The interior was rather dim. Doppelganger's sight into the tent was very limited as the slit was way too thin. He then lifted the flap slightly, and he saw the Orc Hero planning something on a large piece of map unrolled on a table, his back turned to him. The rather spontaneous swordsman restricted himself from being the head-charger he always been, reminding himself to become the strategist once again.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he closed the flaps, thinking quickly so as to get this over and done with. His handsome face seemed to flicker with light when a thought came to him. Yes, douse the light, and kill the might, he repeated the plan over and over again in his head. Doppelganger almost gasped loudly when he saw the Orc Hero stood up and stretched. Urging himself not to miss this perfect opportunity to catch the Hero off guard, he dashed through the flaps and blew off the candle in the corner. However, the gleeful swordsman was all over himself, because this was a bad move, Doppelganger overlooking the fact that the Hero was nothing of a bat even when in the dark…

Orc Hero's eyes flared a yellow light as the angry orc superior brandished a custom made two-handed sword. Apparently he was just as overconfident, if not more, for he made no attempt to alert the camp. Doppelganger made a pre-emptive strike, smashing the table into smithereens as the Orc Hero leaped nimbly off his spot. Doppelganger hoped that the sentries still slept soundly despite the commotion.

The Orc Hero, who was now standing on a stool, leaped towards Doppelganger with a cleaving attack. The blonde swordsman easily blocked the overhead blow by raising his scimitar horizontally above him. Before the large orc extracted his sword from his scimitar, Doppelganger lashed out a hand at ghostly speed, slugging the orc hard in his jaws.

"Give it up, Orc Dolt!"

The large orc snarled in irritation when he did a back flip to evade another slash from the offensive swordsman.

"What brings you here, weak swordie? After the Strength Trait I suppose?"

Doppelganger jabbed his curved blade angrily at the comment, but he hit air as the orc dodged once again. If this duel were to continue any further, the swordsman feared that this was going to wake a few sentries sooner or later. Moreover, he promised himself that he would be done with this and return to the smelly pit.

He began to launch into one of his wily tactics. Doppelganger dashed around the house for a few rounds, creating grey duplicates of himself due to the inhuman speed in which he ran. This tactic had little effect on the orc. The Doppelganger was running all around the house, so if he could…

The Orc Hero put out a foot at a random spot, and the next thing he heard was a loud crash and a yowl. Doppelganger lay on the floor, rubbing a sore nose, his scimitar lying a forearm's length away from his reach. Laughing triumphantly to himself, the gold strips on the Orc Hero's headgear danced madly as he leaped onto the blonde swordsman with another fatal downward cleave. But Doppelganger was faster. Springing to his feet with the scimitar already in his hands, the two superiors crossed swords once again, a sharp ringing noise from the collision of steel woke a sentry up.

The blonde swordsman knew he had two options; abort his plan and crush a butterfly wing, or kill the Orc Lord as of this instance. Deciding that by doing the latter, he would not feel insulted and he could finally seize the Strength Trait.

"Enough is enough…" he whispered inaudibly.

The suddenly serious Doppelganger gave everything he had. He heard approaching footfalls from a sentry, then slowly more series of footsteps followed behind. Raising his sword arm, he flung the scimitar at the Orc Hero with all his might. The orc, standing in a martial stance, sent the blade flying off harmlessly with a swipe of his two-handed sword. This was the moment to strike. The blonde swordsman dashed at his quickest speed possible, slugging the orc's jaw with a balled fist, the other burying into the bestial face. He lifted his knee up at the same time, landing a blow to his groin.

The Orc Hero doubled over after the attack on his groin, then landing onto the floor on his backside. He saw the swordsman advance right in front of him, but he was no pushover. He was an orc superior after all! A green fist came out for Doppelganger –and went right through him. This was then he realized the ruse, what he hit was the shadow of the blonde superior.

"I'm going to… to kill you and take your Agility Trait!" he shouted.

Doppelganger emerged in front of him again, the scimitar in his hands indicated that this was the real deal. The curved blade sent the golden headgear flying into a corner, and around it wrapped a green head.

-

-

-

The great silver being did not have to put up too much fight. The two guards guarding the camp shouted a warning for the Orc Lord in it, before leaping onto Death. The attacking leap immediately turned into two fallen, headless sentries lying dead on the ground.

The Orc Lord, dressed only in a pink orc helm, flipped open the tent flaps and stepped out calmly. What greeted him first were two headless guards standing just outside his tent a second ago, instead of the Lord of Death they warned him of. This orc leader detested trickery of his opponents, preferring them to fight him face-to-face. A swooping noise made him jump forward and spinning around at the same time. But that object still managed to score a hideous slash along his spine. He grimaced in pain, snarling dangerously at the great silver knight.

"What do you want, knight!? You'll pay for breaking the pact!"

Death stood atop the tent, glancing downwards at the injured Orc Lord. Hollering a war cry, the orc planned to extract his foe's sword planted deeply into the earth, only to receive a crushing club to his skull when Death leaped from the top. That had little effect on the green skinned leader, considering that he was wearing a hardy orc helm that defended his head well. Death pulled out his great sword and advanced, but bolts of fire and jagged ice shards came falling before him, the unexpected spell almost piercing him.

The brief distracted had the Orc Lord planting a head butt on the silver knight, the front spike on the helm barely missing Death. The great silver knight stood calmly, measuring his opponent from head to toe. The Orc Lord readied himself in a defensive stance, with a palm extended out before him. Seeing the Lord of Death taking no action, he broke into a run and leaped skywards, then down came a fist. Death sidestepped the aerial attack, raising a boot to the orc's face. The moment he waited for came unexpectedly. The Orc grabbed his foot, flinging him onto the floor. Sticking out his tongue in anticipating, the green skinned leader attempted another devastating head butt, hoping to drive the spike right through his adversary's face.

That move which he thought was unavoidable became a disaster. Death pulled in his shimmering blade at the last moment, the great sword piercing through the pink helm, and impaled deep into the orc leader's brains. The spike on the helm was only half an inch from his face, when it stopped.

Death congratulated himself for succeeding in both plans, sending off the Doppelganger and successfully slaying the superior who possessed the Strength Trait. He sheathed his sword, eagerly opening his mouth to inhale the essence of the Trait. A flash of white light connected the Orc Lord to Death's opened mouth, the transfer of the Strength Trait commencing. Death closed his mouth when the white light diminished, indicating the end of the transfer.

The silver superior shook violently as his body was unaccustomed to absorbing so much power at once. His body began to undergo a change that increased his mighty frame; veins popped from his arm, his bulging muscles swelled. The space on his armour was entirely filled when his chest puffed out, his shoulders broadening inconsiderably. His thigh muscles became more obvious, and more importantly, he felt his raw strength developing by two fold. He was purely unstoppable…


	28. The corruption

-28-

Pressing himself flat against the wall, Piffy watched as a city guard came his way. A few guards may not know his identity, but most of them were told by Lord Cranius that this alchemist must be handled the way Cerberus was treated, for he would share the same awful traits of his leader, Cerberus. A false rumour about the alchemist being a person who plunders the city was spread, whipping up disdain from the city for him.

He had followed the knight and snuck into Izlude, at least without a guard noticing him so far. The residents carried on with their tasks instead of making a tumult when he entered. It was about an hour before dawn, as far as he could tell, and the streets of Izlude were deserted. The alchemist watched it all; from the moment Cerberus entered a house, and out came he, four guards dragging his unconscious form away. He had to hide himself when Lord Cranius exited the house, ending up losing sight of his leader.

He knew that the lord of the city had abused his power blithely again, commanding an assault on the knight who harboured no ill intensions, while his only purpose was to visit a friend and his parents' grave. Piffy cursed the inhuman lord under his breath. What baffled him was that, the guards had dragged Cerberus to another section of the city, instead of the main gates where he was usually thrown out.

Piffy tried going down the street where he had last seen the guards. There was nothing unusual; the only structure he saw was the Izlude prison. Then… a disturbing thought crossed his mind. Cerberus captured and thrown into prison!?

-

-

-

An axe slammed down hard on a deskman, knocking him over his chair. Before he ran down the row of cells in search of his leader, Piffy grabbed a ring of keys on the desk. An awakened guard shouted out –and a blow from an axe silenced him instantly. Piffy began striding down the row briskly, holding up a bottle of his own mixture that could glow in the dark, to provide him with better vision.

He stopped at a third cell from the last. There was Cerberus, lying unmoving. He could not tell if he was unconscious or asleep, but the latter seemed to be the case as he heard a faint snore every now and then. Damn! How could he be happily asleep at such a time like this, he thought. Prontera was going to be under attack anytime, and he needed Cerberus back on the battlefield with the knights in the capital city. Yet, he had to be involved in such complications of all times but now.

He tested each key with increasing frustration, hoping that this ring of keys was the right one to this cell. After the last key on the ring failed to open the lock, he cared less for the commotion and struck his axe against the lock, swinging the cell door open. The loud clank had indeed aroused most of the guards. A series of footfalls approached his way as the alchemist went in to check on the knight.

"There! Stop him! He's freeing the prisoner Cranius instructed not to release!" a senior ranked guard yelled.

"Sound the alarm!" another behind yelled.

The group of guards engaged in a fight against the enraged alchemist. Piffy struck a blow to the senior guard's stomach, doubling him over. He concluded it with a fist swung over his face. He held up his axe, the shaft blocking out a baton club, then kicked him in the gut. The guard dropped his baton, crying out in pain. More guards lumbered down the corridor as the alarm rang.

His energy began to dwindle as the number of guards increased, the alchemist feeling overwhelmed by them. Before he managed to fend off another advancing guard, a hard club to the back of his head knocked the lights out of him…

A ringing noise, which sounded like a sword being drawn out of a scabbard, had several guards jumping onto the awakened Cerberus. The guards were somewhat shocked to see a weapon in the knight's possession, for they had stripped him of all his equipments before he was locked up. A dark purple blade sliced through the guards, their eyes closed in an eternal rest.

The remaining guards, about a dozen, came for him. Cerberus felt an invigorating darkness engulf him, renewed strength and power healing him of his injuries Cranius's four armed guards had inflicted. Most of all, he felt omnipotent carrying this Talefing, as told by the swordsman called Doppie. The jagged edge bit deep into the flesh of two front guards, then snaked its way to three more guards' neck. Five of them fell at once.

A few faltered in their charge, suddenly fearing the sword wielded madly by the knight prisoner. They fled the prison, their mind bend on informing Cranius in his castle. Cerberus made a quick work of the remaining guards, but left one in his captivity.

"You have the audacity to strip me of my equipments…" he whispered dangerously as the jagged edge of the purplish blade neared the guard's neck ominously.

"It… its… argh! I can't breathe…its stashed at the de… desk. Ugh –"

The purplish blade severed the head off the neck. Cerberus looked at the knocked out alchemist in his cell emotionlessly, then stalked off to the front desk. As he drew near the entrance, noise from a small commotion drifted into the prison. He guessed that it must be the fleeing guards warning of this disastrous event happening within the prison.

The knight secured the last strap of his full plate, and a fresh surge of ecstasy never felt before erupted within him, his determination and confidence to retrieve the two swords boiled over him. Whatever was in his memories were washed away as if by a flood, and replaced his blank mind with an aim of mass massacre. Cerberus sheathed his new prized possession, the blade forming back to that of a broadsword. The alarm in the prison still rang out as he left the building.

He bashed his way through street guards, littering the streets with limb bodies and blood. He followed a path, where a sign with an arrow pointing east from where he stood read "Castle of the Lord". More guards fell upon his potent attack, the knight saving the use of his sword for his brother, if his blank mind still remembered him as one. A certain darkness was clouding his mind, tainting his blood, yet he remained oblivious to everything else…

The ornate double doors of Lord Cranius's castle were forced open, and four guards with lances outstretched came running to the encroacher. Cerberus itched for the Talefing, his temptation getting the better of him. His sight blurred, then became focused again, but whatever he saw was in black and white. He pulled out the "broadsword", and the blade shifted into a jagged edge with a strong purplish glow. The chain strung at the tip of the hilt clanked with a deadly rhythm.

The knight waved the dark sword, and a wave of darkness assailed the guards squarely in their chest. With this minor obstacle easily cleared, Cerberus shouted out a challenge to Cranius or any other guards who dared cross his path. He did not remember having so much enthusiasm back when he wielded the two swords. The Talefing actually satisfied his battling needs!

"Cranius! Come on out this moment!"

As he mentioned the lord of the city's name, Cerberus was reminded of the female crusader, Kera. The vision of her being mistreated by her would-be husband, and the way the guards handled him al these while fuelled his undying rage that would not diminish until Cranius was killed by his hands.

"Stop hiding and return what's rightfully mine! I shall not wait till dawn before the fight begins!"

A slice of the jagged blade quickly concluded a couple more guards' bold challenge. Cerberus climbed the posh, red carpeted stairs, combing the castle grounds for Cranius. However, only more guards came for him. There was no sign of his brother even after he headed for the larger and elaborately decorated chambers located on the highest storey.

"Come out! Stop hiding like a coward!"

He ran down to the end of the hallway towards the only chamber with ornate double doors. This significant chamber must be the bedroom of the lord…

The moment the double doors were flung wide open, a small platoon of the armed guards who assaulted him earlier charged out of the room with a deafening war cry. The ecstasy spurred him into wild spins and cleaves of the Talefing which left the front men screaming for mercy, some jerking spasmodically in an agonizing death. Impatience to reach for Cranius dominated him. Another wave of darkness struck through the front, and all the way to the rear, creating more screams and moans.

Cerberus leaped over the personal armed guards of the lord, inspecting the cavernous chamber which was indeed the bedroom of Cranius. The bed was empty and left untouched, everything was in order. There was no trail of Cranius's presence in the room…

Bolts of flame and hoarfrost pierced his body from behind, the inertia of the magical force sending him crashing through the bed, the dark sword clattering onto the floor. Cranius stepped out of the double doors with a smirk, a Fireblend and a Ice Falchion in each hand. The lord of the city made a swirling motion of both swords, and another series of elemental bolts crashed the china near Cerberus.

Snarling out at his brother's trickery, he grabbed his sword in defiance to the spell ejected from the two swords. He jabbed the purplish blade –and another series of magical bolts streamed out towards him. Cranius, still dressed in the simple mail he wore earlier, smashed the flat of the Fireblend against the side of the knight's head. A freezing, yet searing sensation coursed through Cerberus's body, his skin seemed to peel off him. The feeling of both chill and heat was too much to bear…

The dark powers flatered, the ecstasy within him evaporated out of him abruptly. The darkness and corruption of the Talefing tormented his brain, his mind. It felt like a destructive thunderstorm striking his brain, hardly stopping. He clutched at his skull, tearing away at his damp hair. The knight screamed as he felt himself melting by the raging flames of a conflagration.

"Hah. To think that you would challenge me, dear brother. Do to my bidding now, you've lost terribly," Cranius said triumphantly as he grabbed Cerberus's jaws. "Shouldn't you die already, for causing the deaths of the innocent!?"

Cranius wrapped his hands around the "broadsword", closing his eyes to concentrate on the transformation into the purplish jagged blade that he witnessed just now. An eerie light flared. The blunt broadsword shifted into that of a jagged blade, the black hilt hung with a chain. A purplish glow clouded the blade as the lord of the city admired the sword…

"Taste your own medicine!" Cranius spoke in a demonic tongue.

The lord of the city himself was surprised at what he just said. He did not expected it, it just came out by itself. He lifted the Talefing, the dark powers began corrupting his mind with greed for power and gains. Heavy footfalls began thumping the floor into the chamber. Cranius turned around, irritated at the interruption. Cerberus was about to die by his own sword!

Piffy raised his axe for an overhead smash, but the Talefing left a long cut on his left arm. The alchemist faltered, but he proceeded nonetheless, out of determination to safe the knight leader and to rid of this despicable lord. The axe missed its target as Cranius sidestepped, the Talefing quickly lashing out at Piffy's chest. Remembering that he was not wearing any armour, he leaped backward –and tripped over a dead guard.

Cranius drove the dark sword downwards but an acid bottle flew at him just in time to stop the killing blow. Cranius dropped the sword, wiping his face in a desperate attempt to nullify the searing feeling of the acid. Piffy slammed the flat of his axe against the lord's knee, causing him to buckle under the massive blow. A brief flare of an illumination blinded Cranius for a second when Piffy waved his glow-in-the-dark mixture. The alchemist smashed the glass bottle over the lord's head, the chemical splattering in all directions.

He had no many tricks up his sleeve, and so he went into the chamber to sober the knight leader up. He had to leave quickly, for Cranius was not going to be lying there past dawn.

"Damn it! Have you been putting on weight…" he groaned as he spent his efforts trying to lift the knight up.

Cranius moaned painfully and scrambled to his feet, the Izlude lord scanning the area for the Talefing. He scooped the dark sword up when he found it among the dead guards, taunting for Piffy to challenge him again. While Cranius walked unsteadily into the chamber, the alchemist fumbled furiously for a wing, since he did not wish to battle him any further.

The purplish blade came down for the stout alchemist, only to bounce off the shaft of his axe. Shouting an unknown command in a demonic tongue, the Talefing's purple glow flared a brighter light. Cranius's eyes hollowed, turning completely white. His skin paled as he delved in the power of the dark sword which was corrupting him, erasing his mind of everything, ordering him to kill whoever was in sight.

Piffy could no longer hold out to the lord for the Talefing imbued in Cranius a demonic strength. Feeling overwhelmed, the alchemist kicked the lord in the injured knee in order to save himself from being cleaved to death. Apparently the injury from the axe blow was healed by the dark powers of the sword, for he did not buckle under the kick.

He swore under his breath, reluctantly embracing the fact that he was doomed. The partially corrupted Cranius stepped over him, the jagged edge hovering over him ominously. The purple blade rose, and rushed down the highway of death.

Piffy found himself rolling out of the way at the last moment, the Talefing planted deep into the ground. Cranius pulled it out and went for another killing blow, this one was unavoidable. Death was inevitable for the alchemist now…

A stream of fire and ice sent Cranius crashing into the wall, the portraits hung on the wall fell off the hook, clattering onto the lord's head. Shouting another command, Cerberus ejected another stream of fire and ice bolts that pierced his brother's body.

"Piffy!"

The alchemist crawled to him as the knight pulled out a butterfly wing from a tight pocket.

"Hurry!" he croaked with effort. The dark powers of the sword continued to haunt him.

His body was completely numbed, probably from the withdrawal symptom. He could not move at all, he had to ask his alchemist friend to come to him, so they could be in physical contact. Cerberus reached out a weak hand, while Piffy's hand grabbed it, and the two began to feel a dizzy sensation.


	29. Reunion

-29-

The hunter sitting up on the bed grunted in discomfort as the bandaged was wrapped too tightly around his upper torso. He was half naked; his bloodied tights apparently took away from him. A fresh, clean tights lay by the end of his bed, and some sustenance was placed on the table immediately beside his bed.

Pay Skysight looked at his surroundings, trying to confirm his assumptions that he was at home. But that proved wrong however, when he saw a rows of bed in the room. He certainly did not remember cultivating an interest in furniture, nor did he remember keeping so many beds at home. That left him with his second assumption that he was sent to the infirmary following the battle against Moonlight Flower's minions.

He looked of the window and beyond the Payon woods outside. The sun shone fiercely in the clear, cloudless sky, giving him the notion that he slept way past dawn. Gosh, he did not remember being so tired before in his life…

Falcons and other birds fluttered about in the woods, their chirps and caws creating some sort of musical piece. As usual, novices and novice archers ventured out far beyond the woods to hunt down tougher monsters, the aspiring hunters eager for a fast promotion. However, this morning there were lesser adventurers outside. Much lesser as far as he presumed.

He wondered what was the occasion, or even what new dangers swarmed the recently overran town. His worries were put away as quickly as it came, for there would be a din or sounds of battle raging outside if there was indeed another trial round of attack by the cave demons. The room he was admitted to was rather quiet; Pay was the sole person in it. A rumbling in his stomach suddenly reminded him that he had not eaten a proper meal since yesterday's parting with his guild. Pay reminisced about the good times he experienced with the Avenger ever since he was recruited, while he buttered a slice of bread.

He did not realize how hungry he was, when he found himself reaching his hands to the basket where the loaf of bread was placed after each fast consumed slice. The constriction brought about by the tight bandage posed little hindrance to his swallowing as his hunger made him forgot about it. When the basket was emptied, he sighed in content as he raised the bottle of water to his lips. 'Time to work on this damn bandage,' he thought.

Pay arched his arm backwards, and grunted out in pain. Apparently a night's rest had not healed the wound completely. As if on cue, some help came…

"Morning, mama's kid."

The hunger-satisfied hunter turned his head to his first visitor for the morning. It was Elemire. The smug huntress walked down the row of beds and stopped at the last, where Pay sat. He had a displeased look on his face after her comment was made.

"What do you want? I'm in no mood to entertain you, Elemire," Pay almost snapped in irritation, but kept his calm nonetheless.

Elemire began scanning his rather well-built body for a twenty year old, the huntress's eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief.

"Did any girl ever tell you that your body makes her drool? Or will I be the first…?"

Pay remained silent, taking another mouthful of water to clear his parched throat.

"Anyway," Elemire continued. "Are you needing help with those bandage? I won't mind though."

Pay looked Elemire in the eye. After a while he wanted to extract his gaze off her, but there was a sudden difficulty doing so. She suddenly looked quite beautiful to him; the way she tied her hair, and the way she flashes him the impish grin. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was tied in a single pony tail, letting a stray fringe to hang down her forehead. Colour began rising to her cheeks.

"Err… excuse me? Is there something on my face or what?" she stuttered.

"Oh, sorry, and no. I'll handle those bandages on my own. What brings you here?" Pay asked while battling his embarrassment.

"Visit this heroic hunter, what else?"

Pay sighed.

"Fine. Then you may leave."

"Actually, most of the townsmen are attending Sir Rockfist Senior's funeral this morning. He passed away in his house yesterday, burnt to death."

A look of both realization and shock marred Pay's face. So that explains the few number of people headed for the wilderness…

"Sir Rockfist Senior? He passed away!?"

"Yes… why the overreaction?"

"Where is his son right now?"

Elemire frowned at the question.

"Tien is hosting the funeral now. Why do you ask? What's going on?"

"Huh? I was talking about Sir Rockfist Senior's son, not your guild leader."

The huntress almost laughed out in amusement following Pay's question.

"Aren't they the same person, silly?"

"What!? Tien is a Rockfist? How can that be…?"

"Why not?"

"The Skysights and Rockfists… both Houses are as close as family!"

It was Elemire's turn to be astounded after she assimilated this slowly.

"You did not know that Tien's last name was Rockfist? Since you say so, then that means the two of you aren't suppose to be opposed against each other!"

Pay recalled the times when he was a teenager. He remembered a very close friend he had, who was a few years his senior. He was not a friend; he was more of a saviour. Because he was frequently plagued with illness, other kids adopted a habit of picking on him, since he was vulnerable then. The Rockfists lived close to the Skysight, and so that 'brother' would come to his aid unconditionally, driving them off. It happened for many occasions, and he would always be the one who came to his help. Pay never quite got to know his name; he only knew that he was a Rockfist.

"To think that he became like this…" the hunter trailed off.

The constriction in his chest was gone suddenly, and his breathing became easier. He looked behind him and saw Elemire kneeling on the bed, adjusting the bandage while the nostalgic hunter dwelled on past memories.

"Feeling better now?" a sweet voice spoke.

He muttered a thanks, then draped his new tights over his naked body. He started out of the room, then Elemire's hand held his shoulder.

"Where are you headed?"

"You don't have to dog my steps."

Removing her hands from his shoulder, he stalked off to his destination: the funeral.

-

-

-

Hundreds of townsmen gathered at a funeral off to the east of Payon. Tien stood at the fore of the unorderly crowd, his head bowed low in respect for the passed away Sir Rockfist Senior. Tien's father had been an influential man in the Elite Hunter forces, in fact the origin of this force went way back to Tien's grandfather. People respected his wisdom for he aided in numerous occasions by providing what rich knowledge he had for the forces. He was the main drive behind them.

"Tien!"

The monk did not move, nor did he turn his head to answer. Pay ran past the sullen crowd, confronting Tien.

"Forgive my disrespect, but –"

"Do away with the formality, hunter. If you want, then mock with all your might," Tien spoke in a low tone.

Slightly irritated at his distrust and misunderstanding of his intensions, Pay spilled out whatever he recalled about this saviour during his childhood period. At first Tien continued bowing with his head low, then he lifted it up slowly. The crowd began to discuss the hunter's interruption, a few claiming that this was the right moment where Avenger mocks at the Overlord's downfall.

Pay saw the monk's eyes glittered with tears. Somehow he felt that it was not shed for the death of his father, it was because of his rather emotional speech. Tien looked at the hunter with a new recognition, then placed a comforting hand on him.

"It's been a whole damn decade, hunter. Why didn't you disclose yourself as a Skysight earlier…?"

"It doesn't matter now, Tien. Our first priorities are to pay respects to Sir Rockfist Senior, and to ensure an eternal peace for Payon. The cave had to be sealed now that Moonlight is defeated, all thanks to you. To think I used to underestimate you, despise you."

Tien fought back his tears even though he felt a surge of emotion. He only patted the hunter on the shoulders, and led him off to a tavern for a long talk, but not before excusing himself in front of the crowd who was staying to pray for his father's soul to bless the town, watch over the town. From afar, Elemire smiled to herself as she felt that the wide gap between the Avenger and the Overlords began to close up by the day…


	30. Storm's predicament

-30-

Scores of undead minions roamed aimlessly within the perimeters of the graveyard, longing hungrily for more living individuals to fall prey to them. Thick green moss and other growths glued high up the cracks walls, the uneven ground littered with decaying organisms. Crooked tombstones that marked the deaths of countless households before the grand kingdom was cursed lay strewn unceremoniously over the harsh land, disrespecting the dead.

But disrespect did not existed in Glast Heim now. Animated corpses walked the damned, foul kingdom, whatever memories they had about their lives before their deaths were no more; the only purpose of these empty husks were now mere guarding and fighting machines acting under the lord of the monumental graveyard, the unforgiving Dark Lord. A thick greenish fog drifted and hung over the graveyard, adding to the damnation of this land.

Standing at the edge of the graveyard and staring into the deep maroon skies was the Dark Lord. Streaks of purple lightning flashed across the sky occasionally, while the skeletal lord dismissed a zombie guard commander. Apparently he reported that the graveyard minions had spotted signs of a superior traversing these lands.

'Not only have you improved skill-wise, I see your boldness had just passed beyond the point,' the Dark Lord thought about the intruder.

The bemused lord turned and pointed a bony finger at a wraith protector near him.

"Get some numbers together with yourself. Make sure _he_ doesn't get out alive."

The wraith screeched in response, and floated off to carry out the undisputed lord's orders. The Dark Lord continued staring at the skies, silently admiring the multi-coloured lightning streaking across the sky. His black cape fluttered from the chilling wind, the flaming red orbs in his sockets flared suddenly. The skeletal lord hovered above a dark aura shimmering underneath him, and extended a skinny hand. Lumps of mud from the ground began floating into the air, and it formed into a mud figure whose body frame was identical to that of his.

Bright green bolts of thunder struck the mud figure, then the mud replica came to life. The freshly summoned Dark Illusion knelt before its creator in deference, offering his services willingly.

"Unless you have wishes of me reducing you back to what you were, seek him and present me his head without fail," Dark Lord rasped.

The Dark Illusion rose, and disappeared into the greenish fog.

-

-

-

Abyss stood a few yards outside the graveyard, his mind churning and twisting to make out the coordinates of the St Abbey church, and the fiends that lived there. The corners of his lips curled into a sneer as he had found what he was seeking.

The proximity of the Abyss Knight to the superior within the graveyard had already gave the ebony knight the knowledge that surely a demon had seen him. He was supposed to be panicking, frantic that the lone knight would not be able to handle the minions of Dark Lord, who was very likely to send teeming demons at him as of this moment. But something becoming more succinct in his mind nullified the anxiety. Something that would cause a devastating, yet epic battle of the very two superiors manning the damned Glast Heim kingdom…

_What have you inspected?_

Abyss recognized the telepathic voice echoing in his thoughts. He could faintly hear noises of something being munched…

_Nothing in particular. What about you?_

_No sign of the clumsy goat so far. Only loads of his juniors. Speaking of Baphomet Juniors, I'm savouring one now!_

Abyss blocked off the telepath link between the two, for the crunching noise of Storm's meal disturbed his thoughts. The culmination of Glast Heim would come to an end not too far in the future… in fact very soon.

Abyss stalked off the graveyard and headed to the St Abbey church, which was just as corrupted. Evil Druids fuelled the unholiness of the church, while Whispers floated about in slight invisibility. Abyss pushed open the door filled with algae, and a couple of Whispers greeted him directly. The ebony knight sliced off the two spirits resisting his entrance to the church, an Evil Druid flew behind them. With the two Whispers dissipated, Abyss plunged his sword through the druid. His satisfaction raised as more of the church demons fell, which also meant that his plots were proceeding well so far.

Pulling out an object that looked like a black flask, he uncorked it, and the numerous corpses and dissipated Whispers were sucked into the flask continuously. Almost all the undead in the church were slain. A piercing whistle sounded as the last vestiges of dead demons vanished into the black flask, leaving trails of purple smoke clouding the flask opening. Abyss smiled to himself as he pushed the cork back into the opening.

-

-

-

The blue knight threw away the Baphomet Junior and reached for his side, and found nothing. Storm swore as he remembered that his storm blade had been lost since a few days ago during their Prontera invasion. Reaching his hands to the dagger Abyss loaned him instead, he brought his round shield up as he waited for the inevitable. The shaft of the great Baphomet's scythe thumped against the floor as he followed the scent of an encroaching superior.

Storm wanted to pass a telepathic signal to his comrade, but he suddenly remembered that Abyss had blocked him out, and secondly the spot where he was hiding would become obvious to the Baphomet, since communicating through telepathy would make his presence even more distinct. Nevertheless, the great Baphomet mocked mentally at the stupidity of the intruder, for the goat demon sensed tremendous power permeating when Storm passed a message to Abyss before he was blocked out of the ebony knight's thoughts. The goat-like superior was well-aware of Storm's hideout…

The air seemed to ripple as the fuming Baphomet saw his junior brethrens _eaten_ up with bones remaining behind. Readying his scythe, Baphomet slammed his weapon round the corner of a wall. Storm pulled back his shield and ducked just in time to see the massive scythe break off a chunk of the wall, otherwise he suspected that his shield might have been smashed into smithereens if he utilized it instead.

Storm's white eyes flared a bright light as a magical energy surged through his body, the incantations to a spell ready on his snout. The air started to crackle as purple bolts of lightning materialized, and slowly the bolts grew in terms of size and power. Smaller bolts of purple lightning branched off from the main bolt and struck at Baphomet randomly, charring his furry mane. As if to let Storm have a taste of his own medicine, the great goat superior conjured a sphere of raging flames, and hurled it towards Storm.

The fireball burst into sparks as Storm's shield deflected the magic. Forming another spell, he extended a finger –and the ground trembled furiously. The tremor cracked the castle floors, certain plots of earth jutting up. A gale together with a few twisters had the debris swirling madly in a wild dance of death, the bits and pieces of jagged stones scratching the goat, but it did not blow him off his feet. Baphomet extended the scythe at Storm's chest, but the round shield came knocking it off, warding off harm for the second time.

The red nose of Storm wriggled in anticipation for the Intelligence Trait. If he was to suck in whatever amount the Baphomet possess, the effect of his spells were going to be greatly fuelled without the least effort. This notion was the main drive behind Storm's attacks. Even though he put up his shield, the Baphomet acted faster. The goat superior bashed the blue knight in the face, sending him sprawling on the ground, dazed. His body ached with utter pain from the potent bash, his already red nose turning into a deeper shade of red. Blood marred his snout.

Baphomet leaned his scythe against the wall, preparing to teach the impudent knight for intruding his grounds and inflicting these deep scratches on him. Fissures opened up upon the the goat superior's command, hot lava pouring out of the cracks to burn the knight. Storm screamed as the flaming liquid seared his body and his bestial head. His agony was further intensified when thick jets of fire shot up from the fissures at random, rendering the knight unable to put up any form of defence. A conflagration was created following the destructive spell, leaving Storm to die in the middle of the flames, drowning out the horrifying howls…


	31. Nightmares and reality

-31-

Many tables remained vacant. This was not an uncommon sight, provided that the inn had only opened for the day moments ago. Adding the fact that monks were to abstain from alcohol as one of their disciplines, the business was slack. This morning, however, the barkeep brightened up when a lone assassin became his first customer, the tab rapidly increasing when he ordered bottle after bottle of morroc alcohol.

Skull sat by the corner of the only inn in St Caprina, drinking his alcohol in silence. No one else was around; the only sounds were the constant scratching of stationery against a tally sheet as the barkeep snickered to himself. It looked like his obsession with zeny had shorn off a chunk of his sanity, as far as Skull guessed. Taking another swig at his bottle of alcohol, Skull thought about how ironic things had become. A few days ago, the guild wars had turned into a world-wide devastation, and in turn, the existence of the four humanoid superiors somehow made him a wanted man in Prontera.

He coughed suddenly as he swallowed the alcohol too quickly. The burning sensation of the drink made his eyes water; Skull shouted for some water. The barkeep did not hear the assassin's orders though, for he was busy calculating his profits, if there were, and smiled to himself.

"Bring me some water!"

The barkeep snapped out of his delusions of grandeur, and clumsily waded to the assassin's table, slamming a bottle of water down. He did not like assassins patronizing his inn; he considered them a nuisance and had a tendency to foment trouble. He personally preferred his customers to be, well maybe, dancers. Either that, or the residents of this little settlement. Skull desperately gulped a few mouthful of water, then his grey eyes narrowed at the barkeep.

"For your information, your service explains your day dreaming, and the emptiness of the inn."

The barkeep stopped midway back to his counter, then returned to Skull's table.

"Damn it, watch your mouth, pest! You're one of the worst assassin with the most awful mouth!"

He slammed a palm on the table, swiping the bottles off the table with the other hand. Before he could carry out further threats though, a katar slammed into the table, splitting it into two halves. The bold barkeep confronted Skull, angered by the damage of a table. He began demanding compensation from the cold assassin, only to find the katar pointing up his neck, a small slit drawing blood. Realizing his mistake, the barkeep quivered, raising his hands up in an apologetic manner.

Skull grabbed what was remaining of his hair, and pressed the flat of the katar against his cheeks.

"Never do this again, and smarten up yourself," Skull spoke slowly to give in to the barkeep's stupidity.

The door to the inn flung open, and a black figure rushed in.

"Put him down, Skull. You don't want to become wanted here."

Sagizeulus pulled the barkeep free from the assassin's grasp. The traumatized man supported his weak legs by using the tables as handrails, murmuring blasphemies as he steered clear of Skull. Sagi laid the Staff of Soul across the table next to the damaged one, and took a seat.

"What is a grown man like you doing, threatening and killing?"

"In case you don't know, wizard, my business concerns you not," Skull responded.

"I suggest you preserve your energy for more high officials, assassin," Sagi said as he stroked the shaft of his staff.

Skull's eyes narrowed at the wizard as he put away his Infiltrators. He wanted to say something, but Sagi raised a hand to stop him.

"We should really be considering our course of action. But first, shouldn't you speak to me nicely? Part of your survival was my credit."

"Did I ever grovel at your feet and beg for your help? No! I did not need your help, mage. If you have so much time on hand, why don't you help out in the construction of Geffen instead?"

"The four's siege on Geffen had taken many lives. I do not wish to see more of us dying because of them, and definitely not someone of my guild," the wizard said with guilt.

"Did you still consider us as one? Ask yourself, renegade, the cause of the fall of Geffen."

The black robed wizard was silent for a while as Skull hit the raw nerve. He looked at the barkeep as he took a news-roll that came in recently, his lips moving silently as he read the headline news. The barkeep frowned when he came to the end, occasionally taking peeks at Skull, then back at the roll. Sagi thought he heard the barkeep say something about "murderer", then started edging his way to the door.

There was something strange about the barkeep's behaviour after reading the news, as far as Sagi could tell. It was better to take precautions. Grabbing his Staff of Soul and pointing it to the door, pillars of ice blocked the barkeep's escape.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"Uhh… uhh… please don't, mister wizard. I promise I'll stay," the intimidated barkeep begged when he saw the black robed wizard conjure a ball of flame that was hovering over his palm.

Sagi closed his palm to extinguish the ball of fire. Walking over to the barkeep, he gestured for him to stand up, which he did with effort.

"You had better not breath a word about it. We will leave the town now."

The wall of ice shattered upon Sagi's command, and he motioned for Skull to join him. Reluctantly pulling the cowl over his head, Skull strode past the fear-struck barkeep and grabbed the news-roll from his hands.

-

-

-

An anomaly was felt by a white-robed lady who had just woken up from yet another nightmare. She had not been able to pass each night without a disturbing nightmare ever since the four's intervention into the once peaceful world of Rune-Midgard. Initially her brain was still fuzzy, but the images of the nightmare became more vivid as she struggled to recall it.

Yes, it was about the church. The church in Prontera, where she was brought up and guided by the caring followers of God. In the world of her dream, it did not look like the grand, white church that existed now. Instead, hellish legions led by the four superiors, hurled boulders after boulders of flaming rock at it, eventually crushing it beyond salvation. Hundreds of priests and monks, whoever resided in the church, were practically burnt or crushed to death. And slowly, Prontera was overwhelmed by darkness…

Even though Manald had woke up moments ago, flashes of the nightmare, which felt so realistic, made her heart pound against her chest all the harder. She foresaw that an inevitable calamity was going befall Prontera, not to mention, the grand church. Worries and more worries prompted her to make a trip back to the city so as to assure herself that nothing bad was happening so far. But she resisted the temptation each time the thought came into her mind.

If she had returned, that would have defeated the purpose of the parting. Cerberus and company, those who stayed with him, were to remain behind in the city so they could be at the frontlines of the battle if the danger arises. The young priestess very much wanted to lend a helping hand to defend her home, but somehow her childish infatuation for the assassin Skull got her here, after saving his life in Geffen. It was selfish of her to leave the church at such crucial time like this just to accompany the assassin she always sought. She had to be grateful for a person who had been supportive of wherever she goes and whatever she does, her close friend Maraulea. Though the female rogue seemed to only care about herself, Manald knew very well that she was the otherwise, and she was a great companion.

Thoughts of Skull reminded her of nightmares she experienced the past night. Not only did it involve the destruction of the church, but for some reason it too involved the deaths of certain members of her guild. Most of the time, it was the assassin whom she always saw being tormented at the four's pleasure, and in the end, killed blithely. This foreboding indication was one of the two reasons that brought her here, to make sure that Skull should come to no harm. Back at Geffen, the priestess almost broke down when she saw the assassin's distraught state, a sudden thought that her dreams becoming reality drove her to expend all her energies willingly just for his survival. After Maraulea had told her last night that Skull was still "alive and kicking", the tight knot in her chest was finally untied, while she continued praying to God for his safety.

Manald realized that she had had a long rest, judging by the sun. Exhaustion stole over her, that being the aftermath of depleting all her energy to heal Skull. A small tray with containing Mastela fruits and white potions to rejuvenate her lay beside her bed. Although a night's rest had completely restored her powers, she started chewing on one for the juiciness and taste of it. While she ate the fruit, Manald began to think of what they should do next.

Since I've come so far, I might as well think of how to stop them, the priestess thought, planning the road ahead. First of all, they needed to know the four's course of action, and maybe even the place they camped. Come to think about it, so what if they managed to find out all these? It was practically impossible to banish the four back to where they were without a large force or a foolproof plan!

Deciding that she would discuss these with her other three companions, she got out of her bed in the infirmary –and Maraulea entered her room.

"Nice, you looked refreshed. Its time to leave this place, the two had probably long left," the female rogue urged.

"All right. We shall leave."

-

-

-

In a crudely built workshop near the west gate of Prontera, Larzen and the Fiendbane Enforcers stood around a small wooden table with a blueprint unrolled over it. A few of the Fiendbanes had confused expressions while trying to figure out what was going on, while the rest literally stared blankly without any hint of comprehension.

Larzen sighed again for his efforts spent explaining this over the past few hours had been for naught. The band of twenty-five warriors was supposed to have a great deal of knowledge regarding these matters, yet it turned out otherwise.

"Never mind. Maybe I should get Smith over here," Larzen said as he yawned.

The tall warlord stepped out of the workshop and into the crowded streets. This spot where the workshop was built was rather busy, considering that it was located very close to the west gates, where adventurers and residents made their entries and exits. He objected to the idea of building it here, for he had to make a long trip back to the other side of Prontera, where his barrack was.

"Phew," the beefy warlord exclaimed when he spotted Smith smoking a pipe by the fountain of Odin.

"Yo, Smith. Spare some time telling the men the job, will ya?"

Smith exhaled a puff of smoke slowly, then looked at Larzen, shaking his head.

"Are you thinking I'm skiving, lad?"

"Doesn't matter, just need to borrow some time from ya."

"Aye, not till I'm done with these," the thick bearded Smith said, circling a finger over the city of Prontera, encompassing all the constructions going on.

Larzen slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Please? We gotta start work as quickly as possible! Like those workers we ain't gonna slacken, lest the four come on us!"

"Well, this you got to learn expressing yourself better," Smith replied, taking a last puff. "And we are busy securing the roof above this tool dealing shop."

Larzen, looking dejected, started trudging his way back to the workshop in fatigue. He was thirsty and his stomach rumbled consistently, but his tight schedule regarding the underground works deprived him of a proper meal. As much as he wanted to do so, the rest of Prontera's constructors and workers desperately rebuilding the city did not undergo something any different…

"Yo, Zen, come back."

Larzen turned, his face brightening with embers of hope.

"Yes?"

"To facilitate understanding," Smith spoke loudly. "just tell the men to get their butts downstairs, and undertake what's stated in here."

Smith produced a scroll when he finished his piece, Larzen grabbing it gratefully. Shouting a treat to the alehouse next time, the warlord ran back to the workshop, delighted at the idea of getting this done quickly, so he could finally relish in a hearty meal since this yesterday evening.


	32. Orcs under a new lordship

-32-

"I'm not in the mood for this, the lot of you. I've been fooled! The knight got it all himself!"

Despite the swordsman's ranting, the orc sentries could care less, and went for him. Picking himself up to his feet, the scimitar in Doppelganger's hands flew in a frenzied manner, slaying the group of twelve orcs who entered. A horn sounded outside to alert the asleep sentries of a detection of hostility. Kneeling beside the dead Orc Hero, Doppelganger made another attempt to detect and seize the Trait, but the result was similar to previous attempts. Nothing of immense power was found in the Orc Hero's corpse, so that meant the Strength Trait was not in his possession.

That left the Orc Lord the only possible candidate. His suspicions must be confirmed. Another group of sentries charged into the tent, only to face an angry Doppelganger's wrath. A trail of dead orcs was strewn over the whole area. Then it occurred to him the reason Death went off beforehand during the attack on the two sentries earlier. He wanted to shake him off, and seize hold of the Trait solely. Damn it! We're supposed to share it, he thought as his fist clenched.

The phantom swordsman left the tent, and another larger group of orcs, this time warriors instead of sentries, went at him. They would only pose as a hindrance to waste his time. Maybe if he could get to where the Orc Lord was right now, he might be on time. Doppelganger eluded the orcs' grasp, darting past camps, dashing to the other direction where another prominent tent was found. He needed to have a _talk_ with the Lord of Death…

Crossing his fingers along his way proved futile, for he found no sign of Death. Only three green corpse lying on the ground. Doppelganger recognized the larger orc as the Orc Lord, the main leader of the orc forces. Something about the lord was amiss. Doppelganger knew that he was killed not too long ago, but such a short time was not possible for the corpse to become… an empty husk. The once proud green skin was now looked decayed, and the eyes looked hollow, staring out blankly at nothing. The swordsman shouted a profanity. This was a sign that the body had been pillaged for a Trait.

-

-

-

News of their lord's death turned the camp of the entire orc forces into a pandemonium. Several groups argued with each other, each declaring themselves as the next to ascend to the lord's position. As the discussions got heated up, some even got involved in fist-fights, everywhere else sounded with harsh guttural shouts. Even the commander of certain orc ranks were driven to their wits end, their efforts to disperse the fights were dismal.

One unfortunate commander actually received a vicious slug across his face for interfering an intense brawl. Hardly anyone bothered about the higher authorities and flew a punch at anyone they deemed unworthy, or those incapable to take over the Orc Lord's glorious title. Many took affront at this gesture, and joined in the fray.

It all stopped momentarily, when a cold, deep voice belonging to that of a superior echoed the camp. The voice alone seemed to threaten the very existence of them. A lone, but extraordinarily gargantuan knight rode into view. The silvery knight shimmered, glowing with radiance. In his hands held a great sword of similar emanation. A large rectangular shield with a cross carved on it provided him with a sturdy defence from any aggressor. Unwavering powers from the recently absorbed Strength Trait rippled within him, but his presence alone was enough to portray his might, warning those who oppose him to reconsider their actions.

"With the death of your lord, I will be the appropriate person of might who will lead this force."

Many orcs waved their axes and swords at him, as if to jest at him. Others recognized him as a superior, and began warning their brethrens to beware of their insults thrown at him.

"I see you deem me as yet another incapable candidate. Behold!"

The Lord of Death started his assault on the orcs, to both prove the orcs wrong and to demonstrate his Strength Trait. A score of orcs tackled the horse, hoping to fall the big knight. However, the steed was just as sturdy. Despite the orcs' raw strength, it took more than their brute powers to bring it down. Death merely slapped the flat of his sword at the nearest, single orc, and an astonishing sight beheld.

It was as if the sword had a ripple effect on the orcs. The orc who was struck practically _disintegrated_, the remaining force of the strike flinging nearby orcs to the rear of the whole army. The remaining orcs stood with mouths agape, most of them fearing the silver knight suddenly. Some marvelled at his ability to cause such an impact just by the tap of his sword, declaring him as their new lord openly. The rest readily agreed out of pure fear that they might end up just like the guinea pig.

"Commanders out there, rally whatever forces available," Death commanded strictly. "I personally give my word, your glory would prevail, or maybe even rise under your new lordship. Prove yourselves to be worthy, for your first tasks would be a hit-and-run on Prontera."

The commanders immediately stood out and knelt, saluting the Lord of Death.

"You," Death pointed to another commander who stood out. "Gather your forces and eliminate the possible alliances of Prontera. Now that Geffen is destroyed, that leaves you to march for St Caprina."

The orcs assembled orderly upon their commanders' command in orcish tongue, then began dishing out orders in detail. The orcish horns blared, and the forces began to march for their respective destinations…

Death stared at his sword, then at his hand. Even he could not believe the powers of the Strength Trait. He had not expected that particular orc to actually disintegrate into nothing, while that little "performance" granted him immediate control over the orc army. Extremely pleased at his new found power, he began to see himself outgrowing even Dark Lord and Baphomet combined. The other superiors' days were numbered…

Totally forgetting about Doppelganger in the midst of his contemplations, Death's mind went to the Prontera church, and the means to reduce it into a pile of rubble. But, now the problem was how to do it without entering Prontera…

-

-

-

The blissful silence could only mean that he was in the church. Cerberus sat upright, looking for anyone familiar to him, for he wanted to find out the reason he was brought here. The other matter that got him tensed up was the two swords. He did not know if he brought it with him when Piffy and he escaped from Cranius's castle.

The knight leader of Avenger sighed in relieve when he caught a gleam of red and blue from the bench across where he sat. His headache rid off, Cerberus felt very weak. Wounds caused by the magical bolts had left ugly scars even though the priests had healed him of all his ailments. Thoughts of the swords eventually reminded him of the Talefing that enigmatic swordsman entrusted to him. He looked around him, but did not find any sign of the dark sword. Oh yeah, Cranius claimed it instead, Cerberus remembered. The knight was dressed simply, with all his equipments removed. This situation was very much like the time when he was locked in the Izlude prison, that's where the similarity ended. This time, whatever was removed from him lay beside him.

Streams of bright light filtered into the church when the double doors opened, a figure so familiar to him stepped in.

"Up already, I see?"

The alchemist, Piffy, took a seat beside the knight. He was rather short for a human, only slightly more than five feet. Like any other alchemists, his belt was entirely filled with potions. An axe was strapped to his back, but now it was gone. He had left back at the castle during their escape. Piffy ran a hand through his curly black hair, and caught a questioning gaze from his long time friend.

"Ah, yes. The priests are saying that your soul was tainted with waves of darkness and corruption. What exactly have you been doing, lad? They spent hours doing some kind of purification thing, not that I'm too sure of it. Well, I just left you to their care."

Cerberus's brows furrowed.

"I don't know… its all so confusing. I only remembered… yes the sword. I killed many, too many."

The alchemist almost laughed, but held himself.

"Aye, that was what led me to the castle! A path of corpse!"

"Won't this happen to Cranius, since he stole it?"

"Stole what?"

"The Talefing. That purple sword Cranius almost killed you with," Cerberus explained.

"And so it is. That thing doesn't look at all good. Your state gave me the hint, lad. But I think its not so bad since you slew that bastard's dogs!" Piffy said with a grin.

"Not so bad? Now they're hating me for this! More than ever!" the knight snapped.

Piffy was rather taken aback at his leader's response. He had never seen the knight so agitated about the subject on his hometown, which made him consider that he should choose his words carefully so as not to offend the sensitive knight. The alchemist suddenly recalled about the house when he was in Izlude.

"You're not at all blaming them the way you're treated?"

"I'm well aware that Cranius is the mastermind, and I'm aware of his frustrations –"

"Even though he's taking it out on her?" Piffy interjected.

This statement stirred the knight's emotions, as far as Piffy could tell. Cerberus took a deep breath to soothe himself, and tried to banish the marriage to the rear of his mind. This was of major distraction to him, Kera's welfare was what that haunted him every break of the day. Perhaps he should play by ear, and focus on the task of battling the four instead.

"These are really troubled times. Get yourself a weapon already, the four of them won't be delaying much longer. Its time I meddle in my own affairs, rather than her's,"

"I know you're thinking you might not see her for a long period of time, maybe never. Are you trying to stick your butt in only after Cranius goes mad?"

Piffy wanted to repeat when he saw the knight staring into blank space in a dazed fashion, but he was cut short.

"Back then, you disliked my visits to Izlude. Now you're wanting me to save the damsel in distress, yet you aided me out."

"That is why Avenger persisted. Your life had to come first," Piffy replied with a wink. "Well now, it feels so empty without the rest of them around. Feels really weird, but that ain't stopping me from defending this city, and that ain't stopping me from going axe-hunting."

The blissful silence of the church returned once more when Piffy left. Cerberus knew very well that the possession of the Talefing would execute the exact same effect on Cranius as he had experienced. It might be too late that Kera's life was going to be jeopardized, but he decided that a visit to Izlude after the battle against the four was a must. He laid down to recuperate, while groups of acolyte returned from their training session to prepare this evening's mass session. Yet, there was something beyond their knowledge and prediction that might turn a mass into a bloodshed, something dreadful that Cerberus would wake up to find himself defending against, and something was marching closer to Prontera…


	33. Four adventueres, four heroes

-33-

Without any notice from the St Caprina monks, a hooded figure managed to slip past the people, partly because the streets were densely populated. Monks, being the most observant of combatants, passed cursory glances at him, but made no effort to identify this suspicious man. That made it the easier for the hooded assassin to depart the small town while those hidden eyes of his darted over the news-roll he snatched from the barkeep before he left. His grey eyes narrowed at a certain paragraph…

"…_under orders from Prontera's emperor, King Tristan III, no individual was to turn against one another during the battle, that being specially directed at the rivalry of two giants, Avenger and State Overlord as stated by the king. However, Avenger member Skull did not heed the warnings, and killed opposing guild member known as Galor. King Tristan III had branded him a wanted man, while high officials are being dispatched to hunt the assassin down…"_

"Wanted man…" Skull whispered, his hands clenching and unclenching. Not that it mattered to him now, since the sole objective of his life was to hunt down and slay the person responsible for his sister's death, which was in no way different from the high officials' duty as of this moment. His sister being a priestess, she did not tolerate unnecessary taking of a life, including Galor. But somehow, according to him, the death of Galor proved to be a removal of the only obstacle disturbing him. His sister may be resting in peace despite the crusader's inappropriate behaviour, but he wanted to at least do something for her.

"Skull?"

The assassin looked up from the roll only to realize that he was at the entryway. Before him was a congenial look of a priestess, whom he had known as Manald. He pulled back his cowl when nobody lingered about the area, revealing a slightly emaciated face, due to the recent recovery from the fatal poison. The long fringe of his silvery hair draped past his eyes, once again hiding his grey eyes that never seemed to reveal even a morsel of emotion.

Skull stopped in his steps and looked at her without speaking a word, waiting for her next sentence impatiently.

"The news is spreading fast, you should be keeping your profile low."

The recalcitrant assassin ignored the priestess's comment, and looked around him to seek the other two companions out.

"They're headed west for Geffen once more. As far as I can tell, Sagi looks like he has a clue," Manald told him after she noticed his searching look. She suddenly wished that the two have not wandered off without waiting for them. Being left alone with this assassin, she felt even more awkward when a silence befell the two. Her countenance began to shift to one of concern after she observed his pale complexion.

"You don't look too well. Are you in condition to travel –"

"Your incessant questions are what ails me, priestess," Skull interrupted rudely.

"Wha –"

"And I am well enough to take on a platoon of Abyss Knights!"

Manald shook her head in disbelieve, the priestess seething with frustration.

"Fine, then. Seems like I had saved you for naught, _assassin_. Being one, I did not expect gratitude from you, yet now I'm nothing more than a thorn in the flesh? I was a fool to have helped a wanted man…"

"Leave me to die the next time, if you're so unhappy. It's not that difficult, priestess," Skull said simply.

The stricken priestess stalked off without a word, going westwards to join the other two in their search for clues. With her back turned to him, Skull watched as the priestess occasionally raised her hands to her eyes. Initially he felt an urge to take the opportunity to thank her personally, when they were alone. But little did he expect the ill-mannered, emotionless self to dominate him. This was the nature of most assassins, and he found it difficult to break the barrier.

Pulling his cowl over his head, Skull traversed the plains of Prontera, towards the direction of Geffen. Travelling in the open fields posed as a danger, for he would be conspicuous to the high officials who were still scouting the area for him. The possibility of him being seen was high, but the fact that he had changed into new clothes and the hood that hid his face might prove to be an advantage.

It was still safer to travel to Geffen via wooded regions to avoid as many people possible. Skull manoeuvred himself through the woods not without caution, refusing to let his guard down. He listened attentively to sounds of bowstring being drawn, the habit beginning to alert him after every slight noise, be it an insect leaping about, or shedding of leaves.

All was proceeding well, the assassin assertive that no high officials were stalking him. Skull stopped when he came to a junction in the woods; the trail he was walking along veered off to the left, and on his right was an upslope leading to a plateau. The dilemma was quickly solved, when he briefly analyzed both ways. Summoning a row of bone spikes up the slope, he supported himself up the steep slope. With Manald long out of sight, the plateau could accomplish both sighting the route to Geffen, and maybe even spotting a couple of high officials.

A wind picked up, causing the tall grasses on the plateau to sway violently. In the distance, waves of harsh cries that sounded synchronized by a thousand men could be heard. And in between intervals of the shouts, a horn would then blare. This odd phenomenon intrigued Skull; never in his life had he encountered such an event. At first he suspected it to be some sort of celebration, but this day did not mark a special occasion, as far as Skull knew. He decided to move to the edge of the plateau for a better view of the source of commotion. Skull squinted to make out the hulking objects against the horizon.

Whatever that was, the assassin could not identify, for those greenish object were somewhat camouflaged with the tall green grasses of the Prontera plains. He continued to watch with forebode as a bright flash of light flared, then diminished. Those green objects seemed to moved at irregular pace unlike before until the mysterious light came, the synchronized shouts became wild yells. A prolonged horn blared…

As cold and unfeeling as he was, Skull would not sit by the sidelines and watch such strange happenings evolving in trouble passing him by. Moreover… Manald was likely in trouble since she was a distance ahead of him.

Taking no chances, he leaped off the plateau without further hesitations, a sense of urgency gripping him tightly. While he did not want the priestess to encounter doom because of him, a contrasting thought persuaded him to do otherwise. The wizard and the rogue would definitely come to her aid, since they must had seen what these green objects were. And why would he bother interfering when she had more than enough help?

On the other hand, wouldn't his help be a form of gratitude for her? Another flare of white light incited angry roars.

"Hey there's help!"

A party of adventurers ran the assassin's way in a manner that indicated that the green objects ahead were definitely not something pleasant. The party of four, consisting of two swordsmen, a monk and a hunter, confronted him breathlessly.

"A priestess is in grave danger! Please lend her immediate aid!" one of the two swordsmen pleaded desperately as he pointing a finger backwards.

"The orcs are marching near! We have to run back to St Caprina to warn everyone!" the monk cried.

It was Skull's turn to become desperate. Not only Manald had to be saved, he needed to investigate the objective of the orcs. What were they doing rampaging these lands?

"Hurry, sir! She might not be able to hold out any longer!" the hunter said.

'She saved me… she must come to no harm. Never…,' he thought. Nodding to the party in assurance, he took off towards the mystery "green objects" that kept gnawing at him before. Whatever the orcs were planning, it would be futile to stop them. The numbers were too huge, as reported by the party. Apparently, there were at least a hundred of them. Even Sagi and Maraulea were helpless; if they were to collide with the orcs, it was tantamount to suicide. The assassin regretted his earlier thoughts…

Skull began to realize what the light was all about. Driven to desperate measures, Manald had to defend herself temporarily with her holy light spell. But why was she left all alone? Where was the other two? He banished these questions as his priority was to kill every single orc that was posing as immediate threat to the priestess. Midway through his mad dash, his Infiltrators were removed from his hips and onto his hands. His bloodlust urged him faster than he could ever run, while the merciless slayer in him numbed his senses. His eyes blazed with anticipation, the Infiltrators hungrily begging the assassin for a massive bloodshed.

An orc that looked like the commander of the forces stepped over a battered Manald, the axe thrusting towards her chest. The priestess screamed when a flash of red intercepted the thrust, and a large, severed green arm flew over her head. She looked up to see an assassin slickly slicing the frontlines, flying around in a dance of death.

Undaunted by the overwhelming numbers, Skull's arm flailed about, instantly felling orcs upon the impact. The pair of Infiltrators longed for more orc blood, though many orcs lay dead with their entrails spilled at his hands. The orc commander yelled in fury and pain, his good arm cleanly chopped off his shoulders by a mere assassin. His reached the other arm to his axe, but found it in the priestess's hands. The very next thing the orc commander knew, the axe swung across his neck with the last of Manald's strength.

There were too many orcs; more than a hundred. Half of the entire forces were made up of the common, green-skinned orc warriors, the rest a mix of the blue-skinned high orcs and orc archers. The high orcs at the rear were much difficult to deal with, for they were more physically inclined. Their brute strength outmatched those of orc warriors; they were one of the prides of orc armies.

The orc archers did not fire at the cause of the breakout, for the single target was not at all easy to follow. Moreover, they did not want to risk striking their counterparts since the assassin was always moving –incredibly fast. Skull broke the orc ranks, but he alone was not at all sufficient to wipe out such a great force. He realized his horrible mistake that lead him to nothing but death. The mindless killer in him made him punch his way into the crowd of the army, and now he was trapped in a sea of green warriors. Because of his agility, he was able to evade many swipes from the axe, but not all. Blood flowed freely from his ribs, his shoulders, his back, literally everywhere. Unless more help came, he would be doomed.

The sea of orcs regrouped themselves, even though many flustered at the death of their commander. They closed in on the assassin, yet the man refused to back down. Standing up stubbornly, he retaliated with all his might. The nearest orc had his head lopped off his neck unfortunately, causing an uproar from the rest. He was going to die anyway, dozens of axe coming down on him. He just wished that Manald would escape safely…

A loud yell away from the main orc forces drew many gazes. As if to enhance the might of his spell, Sagizeulus shouted the incantations to a dangerous spell rather than waggling his fingers and moving his mouth silently. The two rings on his neck flared as he waved his Staff of Soul in an arc –and the clear blue sky evolved into a fiery orange abruptly. An ear-piercing hum was heard as large, flaming rocks came raining down the fiery sky. The orcs broke off into a run, but the force of meteor was something they could not even hope to escape. The first gargantuan meteor smashed in the middle of the orc forces, creating a circle of green corpse with bodies in halves, or with disembodied legs flying off the socket. Several more meteors descended from the orange sky, the devastating spell of advanced sorcery sending more or less fifty orcs to their deaths at the end of it.

Maraulea upset the orc ranks as she popped in and out from the underground, her zeny knife precisely slitting the vital organ of the orcs. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she picked up zeny coins from the corpses. Dumping the coins into an already bulging pouch, she sent several more groups of orcs scampering away.

"Hey wiz! Can you do that again!? That looked awesome!" the rogue shouted.

Sagi shook his head, the wizard clutching his chest painfully. The staff did nothing to soothe him as it always did, but the effect of the spell was too much to take it. He expected much lesser deaths from the Meteor Storm, the destruction on the numbers he caused completely astounding him. At least he delayed their charge…

With their leader dead, the remaining orc forces fled for their camp when another horn blared. This, however, was not of orcish horn. It was from the monk forces in St Caprina. The hastily gathered army marched towards the four companions even though the orcs had been driven off. It was obvious that many monks were disappointed at the deprivation of a chance at some action, judging from their sighs and gloomy expressions. But from another point of view, the salvation of the impending destruction was the consolation to them.

The party of four adventurers appeared again, their eyebrows raised. Moments ago they were pleading for the assassin to help the priestess out, but now a reverse greeted them. She knelt beside the assassin, placing a comforting hand on his forehead to send curative energy coursing through his body. Thoroughly exhausted beyond measure, she collapsed _over_ the assassin. Maraulea sat on the bloody battlements counting her spoils with much satisfaction. The rogue put away her thick zeny pouch that threatened to burst upon another coin entry, sniggering to herself when she saw Manald lying over Skull.

Sagi forced himself to sit up, concentrating on the recovery process. The staff had practically lent its powers to the owner's spells, but at a huge expense. The wizard placed the Staff of Soul beside him, raising his sleeve to wipe away the blood trickling past his chin. His ragged breath was only beginning to return to normal.

"Men! Get them back to the city, and give them proper treatment!" the commander of the monk army ordered with a wide grin on his face, acknowledging them the band of heroes who saved them from the orcs. However, this was far from over, considering the new lordship the orcs were currently under…


	34. The punishment

-34-

Each crack of a whip wrecked more damage than the previous, this cycle hardly stopping until the knight's head slumped into oblivion. The knight looked more like a beast from his upper torso, especially his head, which resembled a porcupine. The ice-blue, spiky mane shrouded the wolf-like facial features, except for the large red nose. Two brown antlers that added to his height protruded out of the mane.

Commonly known to the world as Stormy Knight or Knight of Windstorm in the demonic world, he was thoroughly chained up in a filthy lair which was hard to detect the surroundings. Utter darkness was what's mirrored in the lair, but due to the superior sight of Stormy Knight, he knew he was under surveillance from a group of Baphomet Juniors, a few ghouls and a wraith. These guardians were to ensure that he would not attempt anything improper.

Storm's eyes shot open as he awoke. It was not of nature, but rather by a sharp pain in his back. A Baphomet Junior had stabbed its mini-scythe into him, punishing him beyond measure. A few others followed suit after the first. Though the mini-scythes sounded like toys to most, in actual it was no different from a freshly sharpened dagger. It was too late to realize the grave danger he was in, the mistake of crossing the Baphomet, inarguably the most skilful of superiors.

The blue knight howled again as another two mini-scythes pierced into his punctured back. He hoped that somehow Abyss would come to his aid; but with Baphomet's tight security, it was unlikely that his illusions would become true. He just had to await his doom…

The strength, the magic within him waned greatly with the torture he received. He had tried to contact Abyss through telepathy, but his wrecked state forbade the only hope he had. Moreover, being the majestic goat superior, Baphomet had already deduced that Storm would resort to this, therefore issuing an order to his guardians that they must interrupt his attempts with a brief attack. And so it went on, the injuries inflicted on Storm were mostly the work of the Baphomet Juniors, a demon that was literally a replica of the great Baphomet. That was where the similarity ended in terms of sizes.

Heavy hooves thudded against the floor brought Storm expecting the worse of punishments. Sure enough, the great Baphomet himself entered, lighting the dark lair with a small fire in a far corner. The massive scythe he carried with him at all times was gripped in his hands, the blade stained with blood from countless victims dating from a long way back. Standing at least ten feet in height, he towered even the superiors, the imposing figure striking fear into everyone. His eyes glared intently at Storm for a while, then ushered for the guardians to leave this prisoner to himself. As if daring the blue knight to try anything of defiance, Baphomet sent flames circling him, heating up the metal chains.

The chain grew red hot after a few moments, searing the hide of Storm. His howl could have resounded over the large mountainous regions of Mjolnir, the goat superior enjoying every moment of this torture.

"The once proud Knight of Windstorm… what have you become? A mere prisoner of me, the great Baphomet?" the humanoid goat spoke with surprisingly articulate tone rather than a devilish rasp.

The sadistic torment left Storm silent; the only noise he could make was the howls of pain. A brief laugh escaped Baphomet, then all trace of amusement vanished.

"You truly deserve this sorry state, knight. Perhaps this was only heard of in the kingdom of Glast Heim, but let me repeat this saying. 'Anything in the world of Rune-Midgard could be done, for the exception of treading Baphomet's grounds'."

Storm snorted and spat out a glob of blood. The seething Baphomet raised his scythe, and brought down the shaft onto Storm's skull, rendering him out cold. That blow could have split a human head into two, Storm probably suffering from a serious head injury from such a vicious attack. The guardians shrank away from the fuming goat superior, each fearing that they might become a snack of his frustration.

Baphomet could easily wipe Storm out in a single smash of his scythe, but many factors held him back from the temptation. He needed to squeeze out every single piece of information out from the knight, to determine if there were any other accomplices as he suspected all these while. Most importantly, he needed to know the reason for the breaking of the pact, and what ulterior motive was hiding up Storm's sleeve. Dousing the flame with a wave of his hands, his hooves thudded loudly against the floor as he left the lair, not before passing down a sharp command to his guardians not to let their guard down. The lair was left in complete darkness again, the guardians eagerly awaiting for Storm to awake. They were beginning to enjoy torturing this knight…

-

-

-

Thinking that Storm might be desperate to commune with him, Abyss left his thoughts available for telepathic messages. He expected the chewing and munching sound of his counterpart snacking again; to his relieve, all was silent. He had drawn his black sword out in advance, for he sensed the oncoming demons.

The St Abbey was left empty after the ebony knight slew every single demon to capture their corpse in a strange black flask. He was not far from the entrance, when a chilling wind had him pressing himself flat against a wall. That indicated the coming of undead, or some other spirits.

Abyss risked a peek at the entrance. He almost choked in shock as a familiar apparition floated past the opened way and into the church. There was no mistake about it; the skeletal features, the dark aura underneath the floating figure, the purple fluttering cape. It was the right-hand man of the Dark Lord, the equally capable Dark Illusion.

The Dark Illusion had his hands occasionally extended to feel the presence of an intruder, his hands misting with a purplish glow. A hiss from the Dark Illusion made Abyss ready himself for the difficult fight. He adjusted his helm at a comfortable angle, then placed the empty hand to the sword, holding it in a two-handed fashion. The Dark Illusion stopped at a bench near the wall, and put his hands down as if already discovered what he sought.

"Whoever you are, come out of the wall and let me sssslay you, and presssent your head to the Dark Lord!"

Abyss waited for the Dark Illusion to draw closer, before he leaped out from behind the wall, the long black blade aiming for the head. The Dark Illusion had long teleported behind the ebony knight. Abyss roared as a stream of fire burned his back, the Dark Illusion then floating above him to inflict damage on his head. Fortunately for the knight, his helm protected him well from harm to his head. The knight sidestepped just in time to evade another stream of fire.

The magic of the Dark Illusion worked faster than the blade, for the powers of the skeletal mage was linked to that of the Dark Lord. A blast of wind blew Abyss off his feet, crashing him onto a bench. The Dark Illusion conjured a fiery boulder next, and hurled it at him. Abyss rolled off to the side, but the impact of the comet still hurt him nonetheless. His foe's magic was making it difficult to tackle. He had more or less expected demons to be hot on his heels, yet he did not expect his first foe to be the Dark Illusion. He only had his luck to blame…

Gathering himself up to his feet, Abyss smoothly jumped over a bench and began on a charge. As he had foreseen that magic would be what was going to assail him again, he planted his black sword deep into the ground when a blast of wind struck him. The Dark Illusion flew forward and threw a skeletal fist at him seeing that the weapon was temporarily not in use. Abyss nimbly bent backwards, grabbing the hand and flinging the skeletal figure onto another bench.

"You were stupid enough not to use magic! Make good use of it since you're dying!" Abyss yelled.

The Dark Illusion crashed through it, then floated up again as soon as the bench collapsed. However, by the time he was on proper stance, the black sword was already flying his way. A loud hiss accompanied by a screech indicated the elimination of the Dark Illusion as the sword planted deep above the chest. Heavy purple mist clouded the church, permeating throughout the area. Abyss found it hard to see in such thick mist, so he had to resort to feeling his way out.

Something made him stop dead in his tracks. His mind raced as the black flask he possessed could prove to be a trump card…

The ebony knight pulled the black flask off his belt, and pulled off the cork to capture the dissipated Dark Illusion. The purple mist vanished swiftly as the destroyed Dark Illusion's spirit was sucked into it. Within the flask a prolonged whistle sounded, then died down slowly. A puff of purple smoke was ejected off the flask before Abyss stopped the opening with the cork.

Sheathing the black sword, Abyss knew better than to confront the next group of demons he sensed that was advancing into the church. It was best to keep a distance from the Dark Lord and his minions for now…


	35. Good ol' chinese tea

-35-

Straw and hay from damaged houses scattered over the Chinese town of Payon, while the townsmen gathered more materials from the trees in the woods. At least the damage was not as heavy as it turned out a year ago, thanks to the help from the men who assisted during the battle. But, according to Tien's point of view though, the absence of Moonlight Flower was the main factor contributing to it.

The monk still recalled the fervour duel with the feline superior, and how he banished her back to the deep hole with his Asura Strike. Yet, a feeling of wrongness kept him distracted, a feeling of unease suggested that this was just the beginning. He certainly did not expect her to be such an easy foe to eradicate. Tien could not clarify his doubts in any way; if Moonlight indeed existed, that would be a matter worth bogging over.

Tien vowed to kill Moonlight at every opportunity, even if she was to revive from every death. She was the cause of his father's death indirectly, by sending forth endless streams of the cave demons. Worse of all, they left his father to _burn_ to death. Such heinous act served only to incur the monk's fury, as he looked at the mass of people gathering at the funeral.

News about an organization of foot soldiers in Payon forming security directly outside the cave circled around. The Elite Hunter forces decided to support this plan, even promising to lend a handful of hunters to secure the cave area. This way, Payon might become less vulnerable to unsuspecting attacks.

But Tien cared little for these matters. He would act alone, destroy the feline superior alone, and do what he deemed right for him. He foresaw that he would be busy for the next few days, planning his revenge not only for his father, but to Doppelganger as well. Not forgetting the phantom swordsman, memories of his guild flashed in his mind again. At least, a member remained, but that did little to comfort him.

The monk had been pondering about the unexpected death of his guild mates ever since his escape from Geffen with Elemire, and he found it hard to call it quits. For years he had cultivated the State Overlord, devoting himself into it. However, due to current circumstances, it would be wise to put away the guild business, and devote himself into the struggle against Moonlight Flower, before going on to Doppelganger. Blinded by the sole purpose of revenge, he failed to see that the bottom line was to permanently cease the attacks on Payon, more importantly, the defeat of the four great evils.

The unbuttoned brown tunic he wore fluttered open as he walked, revealing a bronze, muscular chest that would stimulate envy from others. A long scar on his right cheek had damaged his looks, that being a facial injury caused by Cerberus in a guild war a long time ago. The best feature he had was probably the short black hair that was arranged neatly.

"Tien, are you leaving the funeral?" a woman attending the funeral asked when she saw him leaving.

"Later," he answered quickly without turning. There was somebody he wanted to attend to now…

-

-

-

Tien walked up the undamaged house, pushing open the wooden door lightly. A strong whiff of tea leaves filled his nostrils upon his entry. Pay sat beside a small table with tea brewing apparatus set up on it, carefully pouring the freshly brewed tea from the pot into smaller cups assembled in a round manner.

"Tien, it is you. Come on, seat."

The approximately six foot half monk almost had to bend as his head was touching the low ceiling. Plopping down opposite Pay, the monk helped himself to a cup of fragrant tea. Being a Chinese town, the art of brewing tea and the drink itself was widely appreciated in the town. In the outdoor restaurants, no one would fail see teapots arranged on every single table.

"So you do practise tea brewing. I see you're not too bad at it," Tien commented after a long, appreciative sip.

"That was my daily work during my childhood. All I did was learning this from my mother," Pay recalled, a wave of nostalgia sweeping over him.

"And being pummelled," the monk jested.

A grin crossed the hunter's face, then his expression became serious.

"Too many have died after each wave of demons. Including your father… that was most unfortunate."

"I will personally ensure that I will avenge whatever losses since the first ever attack. Especially Moonlight," he said, even though he had been hoping all these while that Moonlight Flower was dead. But her easy death made him uncomfortable.

"I heard Elemire's been saying that you're responsible for banishing Moonlight back into the caves. I must say it's impressive."

"Don't get your hopes raised. My hunch says her death was nothing more than a hoax." Tien expressed his doubts. "With our guards let down, she'll make a fine entrance and catch us unprepared."

Pay heaved a sigh.

"Because of these, my mother's wanting me to enrol into the Elite Hunter force. But how can I forsake my guild?"

The talk of guild raised the monk's temptations again. Although Pay might be in the Avenger, he could talk him into coming over to the Overlords, to strengthen it once again. Just like how he made Sagi turn against the Avenger…

"Pay," he started. "What will be your response if I'm offering you a membership into the State Overlord?"

The hunter almost let the cup of tea fall from his hands. He quickly swallowed the remaining tea and continued, "This is not the time to worry about guilds, Tien! We need to enforce the safety of this town! That's what matters."

"It may look trivial to you, but being the leader I need to rebuild my passion! What say you?"

Pay put down his cup, and shook his head.

"I can't. My focus remains on the well-being of the townsmen. Whatever you are planning for your guild, I suggest you put it off till the dangers are cleared. Don't forget the four are still rampaging Rune-Midgard, and Prontera may be in need of help."

"But –"

The door opened, and a lean huntress strode in.

"Am I being too much of an interference? Anyway what's the heated discussion about?"

"Think about it, Tien," Pay returned to the conversation, not at all minding Elemire's presence. "Even if you did manage to shape up your guild, you'll eventually be forced into alliances with everybody else against the four."

"Their deaths may be a devastation, Tien. You'll have all the time to do what you wish after the battles end! The peace of the world is more vital," Elemire agreed, taking a seat beside Pay.

Tien was deep in thought for a while. What they said had a point; the world of Rune-Midgard had to be salvaged from the superiors' hands, not the salvation of his guild. He was being too impulsive this time round. He needed to cope with the loss…

"Come," Elemire spoke up. "Let's do what we can to help the constructions. You should really be returning to the funeral, Tien."

Taking a cup of tea in her hands, she swallowed it all in a few gulps.

"You brew really delicious tea, hunter. Maybe I should visit your home often," she said with a wry grin.

Strapping the Ballista crossbow to her back, she made a leave.


	36. Hit and run

-36-

Cerberus's eyes snapped open at once.

"Sir Cerberus! Sir Cerberus!"

A young acolyte stood beside the bench he was resting on, trying with all his might to wake the knight up. Rubbing the sleep off his eyes, he bolted upright, surprising the acolyte slightly.

"What's wrong?"

"A band of orcs had started invading Prontera! Lend us aid!"

"Damn!"

Cerberus shook his head violently to completely clear the fuzziness. He hastily put on his full plate, and grabbed the two magically enchanted swords in each hand. The scene in the church was panicky; acolytes who were preparing for the mass now hid in their own chamber, while priests and monks geared themselves up for the bloody battle. Outside, horns blared frequently, hurrying the Prontera army into action. The knights on foot and on cavalry already stood at the west gates, where the band of orcs advanced.

Hunters atop the walls eagerly reported to the commanders what they sighted, then returned to the walls to further survey the orcs' movements. Although the orc forces were not in range, the hunters nocked their arrows to give them a sense of protection and assurance.

The commanders yelled instructions to their subordinates, reminding them not to repeat their mistakes that they had made during the battle against the four. But their impatience was mainly due to the fact that the two warlords of Prontera were yet to be seen. There was not even a sign of their Fiendbane Enforcers. A few men were quickly picked out to search for the two.

Once again, the residents had to be evacuated. Cerberus, together with a small group of inexperienced acolytes, guided the desperate and petrified city-folk out through the east gates. He intended to participate in the battle against the orcs, to join the gathered departments, but helping the residents happened to come to the fore of his mind. Another reason was that he felt a sense of solitude if he was to do battle together with large groups of unfamiliar warriors. He had become so accustomed to fighting alongside with his guild members. If he was to head westwards to the gates, he wanted to at least look for Piffy.

"Sir Cerberus!" an acolyte in the group called out.

At first Cerberus thought it could be Piffy, but the juvenile voice dashed his hopes. Turning around, he waited for the young boy to start on his speech.

"Sir Cerberus! May we participate in the battle? We earnestly want to help!"

The knight raised his hand to indicate a strict no.

"Out of the question. You all are too inexperienced, trouble might befall!"

"We can provide our healing abilities!" another boy shouted his suggestion.

"No! Return to the church! I do not wish to be held responsible if you get crushed at the hands of the orcs," the knight snapped. He was surprised at his outburst, which does not happen usually. He held his emotions in check; too many problems were stored up in him, and he could not help feeling frustrated.

The invocation of the four, the invasion by the orcs, the parting of his guild, his own inner turmoil regarding Cranius, Izlude and the marriage of Kera… this was troubling him greatly. The latter was made worse when he subconsciously killed the Izlude guards at the command of the Talefing. The city of Izlude might be in peril, for Cranius now possesses the dark blade. The marriage of Kera and Cranius contributed to the largest portion of his dilemma, though he constantly avoided it by inebriating himself.

The group of acolytes grimly returned to their church following Cerberus's harsh lecture. When the last of the residents fled the town, but not before pleading him to save the city, he trudged to the west gates unwillingly. A scout ran his way breathlessly.

"Sir Cerberus! The commander requests your participation in the battle! The two warlords had yet to be found, gather your guild and lend us aid!"

"I will be on my way. Be gone."

The scout, telling by the unhappy expression on the knight's face, knew better than to persuade him further, and ran off to report to the commander. Cerberus heaved a long sigh as he walked slowly past the fountain of Odin.

"Cerberus!"

There was no doubt that this time the voice belonged to that of an old alchemist friend he knew for a long time. His troubles temporarily evaporated, he welcomed the sight of Piffy.

"I hope your axe-hunting got you something good, because we're about to butcher some orc meat!"

As if to emphasize Cerberus's comments, the alchemist produced a sturdy-looking Buster axe, raising it up ostentatiously. Clapping a hand on Cerberus's back, Piffy said, "Aye! Butcher some orc meat, definitely!"

-

-

-

"Boss! Is that true that the orcs are coming on us?"

Larzen nodded. The Fiendbane Enforcers talked heatedly, stopping their work instantly. Then, a short figure came down the ladder, a hammer in his hands.

"What are you lads doing? Get your butts upstairs, and that's where your work lies now!" Smith hollered. "And you, Zen! Why the delay? Have you forgotten what I told you, huh?"

"Hey! I was just about –"

"Shut it! All of us, out to the orcs, now!"

All twenty-five members of the Fiendbanes strapped the Goblin Mask over their faces and took up their Muramasa. One Fiendbane stood out.

"Boss, we'll do the usual."

Larzen nodded in silence again as he held his Zweihandler in both hands.

"Do me proud!"

Smith was already long gone. Larzen ascended the ladder to the workshop, and out of the windows he saw Smith stabilizing the Prontera forces. Glad that he did not have to walk a long distance again, he ran to join his warlord counterpart. Seeing the two warlords, the previously uneasy soldiers now stood straight with confidence, and with an indifferent look.

In the distance, an orcish horn sounded at a higher note, causing a loud roar from the green-skinned beasts. The orcs began their march, but wisely kept out of the hunter's range. A hunter descended the walls to make a new report to either one of the warlords.

"Sir Blaedmight! I request that you dispatch forces to the south gates! A batch of reinforcements is going to breach the gates!"

"What are the numbers?" Larzen inquired.

"No more than a hundred. They are mostly melee warriors."

"You may return," he bade off the hunter, then turning to Smith. "Yo, Smith. I'm afraid our boys can't do the usual. The south gates are under attack."

Smith was too preoccupied with fresh round of instructions to answer the warlord. He probably did not even hear what he said. Time was definitely not on their side. Taking matters into his own hands, Larzen rushed back to the workshop, and down the ladder. All twenty-five Fiendbanes were out of sight; he knew that they were hidden for the action.

"Boys, come on out! I've got new orders!"

No response came. Instead, an alchemist stood out, tugging on his beard.

"Might that be Piffy Brewlodt?" Larzen asked dubiously.

"Save it, warlord. Your men had gone off to the south, under my exaggerations," Piffy said, reading his mind.

"I've made this trip in vain, then!"

-

-

-

Bits and chipped off pieces of wood came off the large, double doors of the southern gates as mechanisms outside hurled boulder after boulder at it. A group of high orcs banged at the doors with thick trunks and logs, their more forceful blows finally smashing it open. The orc commander gave the command –and the band of orcs came crashing through the south gates.

Hunters assigned to the south at the last minute let loose a volley of deadly arrows aimed not at the orcs, but at the mechanisms to snap the operations. The orc warriors overseeing the ballistae dropped dead, and the machines failed to function properly. Fitting another arrow, the hunters sent the second volley to the vanguard of the orc force.

As planned, the frontline fell, disrupting the successive rows of orcs who either trampled over their dead comrades, or tripped over them. The orcs were further caught by surprise when the Fiendbane Enforcers leaped out of nowhere with their Muramasa extended, gouging out their heart or the entrails. The ichor of the slain orcs splattered over the white streets, but not at all a revulsion for the band of twenty-five. They had become too accustomed to such sights.

The Prontera defenders were not completely unharmed. Instead, they had to rely on the Fiendbanes after all the hunters were taken down from the walls. Apparently, the orc warriors were not at all poor at their marksmanship, for a small group of them switched to a range combat, hurling javelins atop the walls. The hunters did not expect them to resort to these, and so all of them fell after a couple of volleys.

The Fiendbanes completely upset the orc ranks, but that problem was swiftly settled by the highly efficient orc commander. The orcs regrouped again, then roared a battle cry for the next mad charge. The spearmen had put aside their javelins, now that no rangers would harm them. A few members of the Fiendbanes were unfortunately slain, leaving the rest outnumbered one to two. Their morale was not of the usual standard, due to the absence of their "boss".

Just when they were at their mercy, a phalanx of foot soldiers and two priests led by the famous leader of Avenger, Cerberus served as reprive. Among the small group was the alchemist, Piffy, his new found Buster axe in his hands. Several groups of orcs broke off to meet the charge of Cerberus, only to have the scheming Fiendbanes to puncture a vital organ from behind.

The remaining who was not targeted then became victim of the two swords' magic. Swerving his two blades down in an arc, Cerberus sent bolts of flame and hoarfrost raining on them. Some were trapped in a frozen state, while others were scorched to death, their green hide charred. Mimicking his previous action, Cerberus smiled in satisfaction as another series of elemental bolts blasted the orcs to death.

The odds were now evened. Seeing this sudden turn of events, the orc commander shouted for a retreat, reminding them in orcish tongue that their lord had only ordered a hit-and-run. The miserable number of surviving orcs fled at their commander's yell, and the Fiendbanes raised their Muramasa in salute to Cerberus.

-

-

-

"Destroy their archers!"

The hunters obliged immediately, they too knowing full well that the orc archers were a danger to them. Smith ordered the foot soldiers to engage battle with the orcs, and that proved to be a terrible mistake. The orc commander roared a command, and the orc warriors that had been carrying swords then raised javelins.

The lines of foot soldiers collapsed as the first volley of orc spears flew off. The hunters atop the walls became confused as to who should they target, for both spearmen and archers were threatening them greatly. A few hunters dropped off the walls when orcish arrows flew up.

Larzen himself was dumbfounded. He had never seen the orcs that clever at battles, and he had never seen the orc warriors made use of spears before.

"Cavalries, ready! Put up your shields –GO!" Smith roared with all his might as he pummelled an orc warrior's skull with his hammer.

At the warlord's command, the cavalries brought up their shields and reined their Pecopecos forward. The first line of cavalries faltered a little when a volley of spears and arrows pierced the steed rather than the rider. The second line managed to crash through the warriors-turned-spearmen, the Pecopeco trampling on the green-skinned beasts. Those at the rear put away their spears and reverted back to their swords instead, slashing at the steeds' legs.

"Cavalries! Hold your positions! Hunters continue firing at those damned archers!" Smith roared again.

Larzen bashed a warrior with the hilt, then brought his blade horizontally across his gut. He ducked as stray spears flew at him. Readying himself on a stance again, he yelled for the priests to ready their Pneuma spells to nullify the massive ranged attacks. A couple of priests obeyed, while the rest carried out Kyrie Elieson spells to create a magical shell of protection against melee attacks.

The cavalries started on a charge, yet again after the Pneuma was activated. Spears and arrows bounced off the defenders harmlessly, and they swore in further disbelieve when their swords too could not touch them. The tall steed smashed through more lines of orcs, breaking off the ranks.

"Footmen to provide support!" Larzen shouted to the fast diminishing foot soldiers.

"Make way for high orc!" the orc commander yelled to the orc forces.

A group of high orcs brought forward large ballistae, and began inserting huge boulders.

"Run after ten shot! Run after ten shot!" the commander yelled again.

A series of boulders hurled across the air and slammed into the walls, felling a great deal of hunters. The second volley of boulders went bowling over the foot soldiers, sending steeds crashing onto their side. The third volley followed, and the orcs started withdrawing. They fled the battlements, as the numerous boulders caused heavy casualties that were less likely to be recovered within their next assault…


	37. Two minds, one heart

-37-

It turned out to be the same infirmary he was sent to the day before. Skull's first thought was that a wanted man like him should be thrown into captivity rather than a medical facility. They even arranged for him to recuperate in peace too. This was hardly a time to lay back and rest without worries; maybe it was the silence before the storm. It had to be. When it comes to him, nobody could be such a good Samaritan. For all he knew, a platoon of high officials might be awaiting him, laying traps just outside his ward.

Scenes of the struggle against the orcs surfaced in his mind. Before he blacked out, he had to save a person from their grasp. Yes, he had saved Manald. But whether she escaped to safety or not, he had not the slightest hint of idea. What he feared was that, there was a possibility that his arrival had came too late. If she did not survive, he would be eternally regretful. The last he remembered, he was in turn saved from the sea of axes by a destructive crash that created a crater in the earth.

"Sir?"

Skull spun around to see a young acolyte standing by the doorway, and he stopped pacing.

"Speak."

"If you are well enough, Lord Stratza has wishes of you visiting him in his mansion," the young boy reported politely.

Skull's doubts began to pile up. What did the lord of St Caprina had in store for him?

"And what exactly does he want, kid?"

"Don't worry, sir. You're one of the four heroes who saved our city from the orcs. The lord merely wants to show his gratitude in the form of a dinner at his mansion, nothing more and nothing less. He means no harm."

This was sounding a little ridiculous. Skull only wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible. First he needed to know his companions' whereabouts.

"The three others –"

"Oh yes, the other three are safe and sound, and they are awaiting your arrival at Lord Stratza's mansion," the boy cut in. "You should really attend it, nobody has ever had a chance to dine with the lord in his mansion."

"Fine," Skull said, waving the boy off. His pounding heart returned to normal after the boy had mentioned that "the three are safe and sound", in other words, Manald did not fall to the orcs.

-

-

-

The enormous mansion of Lord Stratza was fascinating. Just like the main attractions of St Caprina, the front yard held a manicured garden of flowering shrubs and pleasantly shaped trees. Maraulea marvelled at every single feature of the three-storey house, the yard already urging her to explore every corner of it.

Lord Stratza led Sagi and Manald into the house as a servant opened the front doors. The first floor was constructed of large blocks of granite, polished to show off the colours. Huge paintings and several artfully crafted artefacts made up most of the mansion's decorations, the evening sunlight streamed in through the stained glass windows.

"Welcome to my humble abode, my saviours," the lord spoke with a smile.

Manald flushed with pleasure, while Sagi continued to remain interested in the tall shelves seated at the corner, and the incomprehensible paintings. The wizard thumped his Staff of Soul gently on the ground as he approached the library corner, specially picking out a volume of a thick book titled _"Arcane histories vol. 4"._ Since young, he had been besotted with books regarding magic and legendary wizards.

"I see you developed a great deal of interest in such books. Take a seat, Sagi, while you read," Lord Stratza offered.

Looking up from the middle page filled with pictures of historical wizards, Sagi leaned his staff against the wall that was painted a pale pink.

"Lord Stratza, I understand my companion Skull had been branded a wanted man, yet you offered him the best hospitality nonetheless. Doing that may raise contempt from the residents."

"Ahh, Sagi, that you may put your mind at ease. On the contrary, the residents had taken a liking for him, for he is still after all responsible for driving off the orcs. As for the hospitality, I offer the four of you of equal treatment, and not especially to him," the lord explained with much patience. "I thank you for your concern, Sagi."

The black-robed wizard nodded, and sat down on a large, soft couch for further reading pleasure. Lord Stratza smiled again as he saw the satisfaction of his guests; the spontaneous rogue who was so engrossed with the mansion, the wizard who shared similar interest as he did in the collection of books. The lanky lord of St Caprina, wearing a bright blue grand majestic robe made from the fur of Sasquatch, with silver trimmings. Suddenly remembering that he had forsaken the priestess who was sitting on the stone benches in his garden, he strode out of his house.

"Apologies, priestess, for not attending to you."

Manald averted her gaze from the flowers to the lord, then edged to the other side of the bench to leave a seat for the lord.

"I didn't mind it at all."

"I've heard you suffered severe injuries. Are you well?" Lord Stratza asked with concern after he took a seat beside her.

"In top shape, actually," Manald reassured with a smile. "Your hospitality was excellent."

"Why, thank you, priestess. Or rather, the warrior priestess. To think a gentle priestess like you managed to slay an orc commander!" Lord Stratza complimented.

Laughing softly, the priestess returned to the blooming flowers.

"Its done out of desperation. I didn't expect myself to do it!"

"That friend of yours," the lord started. "That assassin, will he be coming? I've sent an acolyte to inform him, but he has yet to be seen."

"I'm quite certain he will, Lord Stratza. Come to think about it, till now I don't see your wife."

A look of amusement crossed his face.

"Probably because of my premature greys or my beard, many, including you, assume that I'm married. In fact I'm not, priestess."

Manald began to feel foolish and embarrassed.

"Mind me not, but I thought you might be forty."

"Nay, not for another nine years," the lord confessed.

"Shouldn't we be heading back for dinner?" she said, her stomach suddenly rumbling. She then realized that she was really hungry.

"Not unless your assassin friend shows up."

The priestess sighed, remembering how she threw her temper at him this morning. And by stalking off all by herself, the orc forces confronted her, eventually troubling Skull to come to her aid. As a result, he had to be treated, for he suffered numerous axe blows. He probably did not even want to see her. Now, she had to take back her words blurted out this morning. After all, they were quits now that they saved each other.

"Pardon me, priestess, but I see that you are very concerned about him. And you tend to become tensed whenever I speak of him…"

"That's how guild mates behave, Lord Stratza," Manald said, trying keeping a straight face. "After all we had been around for quite a number of years. Our bonds are strong as steel."

"I've heard of the Avenger myself. But I don't see the rest besides the four of you."

"We've parted ways, but that's just temporary. Anyway –"

The rogue appeared out of nowhere, startling both Manald and Lord Stratza. She began doubling over in a shrieking laughter, the two's reaction amusing her greatly.

"Oh sorry, is dinner ready? Its been a while since I sat down and enjoy a feast! What's the delay?"

"We're delaying no more, for he has come," Lord Stratza announced when he saw an assassin escorted in by the acolyte he sent. "Welcome, Skull, we all are awaiting your presence."

Manald was rather surprised at the patience Lord Stratza displayed. Usually such significant beings would detest late-coming, not to mention, waiting for a particular guest. The young boy bade Skull farewell, and left the assassin to the mansion. He reluctantly shook the lord's extended hand, and walked off to the house without looking at any one of them. Maraulea ran to join the priestess and the lord.

"What's his problem? Its not like he has feasts every single day."

-

-

-

Sagi was so engrossed in the book that he did not notice the rest entering. The illustrations of those catastrophic spells cast by legendary wizards amazed him as he kept reaching for more recent volumes. He only looked up suddenly when a servant called out to him.

Inserting the books back to the space where he drew them out, he saw his companions and Lord Stratza already seated at the long, rectangular dining table that could allow about twenty guests excluding himself. Each place had a lighted candle placed on it and a glass of Geffen's very own honey ale was served.

Seated at the end of the table was Lord Stratza, and the rest sat along the length of the table on either side. Pulling out an exquisite looking chair, Sagi took a seat beside Maraulea, who was playing with the candlelight by putting anything she could find through the flame. Opposite him, Skull was probably the only person who was not enthusiastic about the dinner, for he kept a grim look. Beside the assassin, Manald was sharing her experiences as a priestess to Lord Stratza, and talking about the guild wars that happened over the past few years.

The five tucked in with much appetite when dinner was served. Lord Stratza emptied his glass of honey ale, and began helping himself to large portions of the chicken, and a spoonful of berries. Skull remained uninterested, downing glasses of ale instead of eating a proper meal. Reaching out to scoop the strips of beef, Sagi shook his head slightly when he noticed the assassin's behaviour.

The wizard could somewhat sensed that Skull was a little uneasy about Manald and the lord getting alone so well. But he kept quiet throughout the dinner though, speaking only necessary. Although the Geffen-imported ale was his favourite, he did not take in as much as Skull did.

Maraulea quickly swallowed the chicken she was chewing on with the help of some wine. When her mouth was cleared, she started launching in tales of her battles. Her speech got her even more excited as she used a chicken bone to illustrate how she killed the orcs with a single slit of her zeny knife. However, only Lord Stratza was entertaining her, while others immersed themselves into the hearty feast.

Sagi wiped the juice of the berry dripping down his chin.

"Lord Stratza, we're making our leave tomorrow morning. To further ensure safety of this town, spying on the orcs is necessary. The orcs had been quiet and peaceful since a very long time, we need to find out the mastermind behind their deeds."

"Very well. I shall wish you a safe journey, and once again, I thank you on the town's behalf," Lord Stratza replied after taking a sip at his ale.

Manald put down the cheese and bread she was munching on.

"So where are we headed next?"

"The Orcville. That means, we'll have to travel to Geffen again," Sagi spoke firmly.

The rogue looked up from her plate.

"This time, there better not be anymore orcs resisting our journey!"

"We can only hope," Manald reminded.

"She's not wrong," the black robed wizard said. "Tomorrow morning, we'll travel through a warp portal to avoid them. Any problem, Skull?"

No response came from the assassin. Blood had rushed to his face after a drop too much, his cheeks now a shade of crimson. He held the glass of ale in his hands, staring off into the corner in a daze. The chicken and berries on his plate was left untouched, and his eyelids were about to shut. Fearing that Skull would foment ire from the lord, Manald nudged him multiple times in the ribs.

"Don't bother, Manald," Sagi said. "He's hopeless."

"What ails your assassin friend here?" curiosity got the better of the lord, when he noticed that Skull ate nothing, but only drank heavily.

Maraulea flashed a cheeky grin.

"Terribly ill, he is."

"Indeed? May I ask…?"

"Ill at heart. The whole pin's gone!"

-

-

-

The inebriated assassin woke up to the sound of running water. Skull bolted to a sitting position, and found himself resting on a stone bench all these while. He was in the gardens outside of the mansion; a small fountain stood near him, on it there was a stone statue of a dragon.

A pale crescent hung in the sky, trying in vain to illuminate the world. It was probably far past dusk. Rows of beautifully planted shrubs and blooming flowers surrounded him, the gentle flow of water seemed to enhance the serenity of the garden. A slight breeze ruffled his silver hair, his long fringe parting to display his pale face and those pair emotionless grey eyes.

Dinner was already long over, he thought. But for some reason, the scent of roasted meat lingered around. Skull pressed against his stomach hard as a wave of pain literally squeezed his insides. The assassin groaned as he remembered that he had not eaten anything, yet he drank heavily on an empty stomach.

"Immuonnas…"

"Huh?"

Skull snapped his head backwards. For a fleeting moment, he thought his sister had come to him, moreover, he was called by his morrocish name. When he could not believe his eyes, he rubbed it violently. Then it turned out that his post-sleep effect was truly fooling him. Manald approached him with a plate in her hands, and on it was what he sniffed; a piece of roasted meat. Beside it were some fruits and berries. Come to think about it, there was some resemblance between his sister and this priestess. The priestess uniform they wore, the dark hair, and the way they cared for him. His expression softened for once, when he started to miss his sister suddenly.

"Eat a little," Manald said, offering the plate to him. She expected him to either wave her off, or shout at her to leave him alone. To her surprise, neither occurred. Skull took the plate from her hands, but did not immediately start eating. Instead, he set it down beside him. The priestess noticed him grimacing in pain as he pressed at his stomach, knowing that he had serious gastric.

"Relax yourself," she instructed, pulling his hand off his stomach. Placing a palm on the assassin's stomach, Manald muttered a short chant, and a green energy flowed from her hands. Skull became less fidgetive as the soothing energy eliminated the pain.

"That's the least I could do for risking your life," the priestess said following the conclusion of the cure. "I've been wanting to offer an apology since the battle –"

Skull waved a hand to dismiss the apology.

"I would not, and never forgive myself if I left you alone to die at orcs' hands. My sister's dead; I want no one else close to me die because of my recklessness."

That was probably the most pleasant thing she ever heard him say. She flushed as she dwelled on the particular word "close". Watching Skull wolfing down the plate of food, she pitied his loss of a close kin. Perhaps that explains his taciturn personality, she thought. Over these years in the guild, she doubted if she had ever seen a hint of amusement or humour on the assassin's face.

"Skull…"

He stopped forking the meat on his plate, and looked into her blue eyes.

"What?"

"Can you smile for once?"

Skull's brows furrowed as he lay down his plate.

"What are you driving at, priestess?"

"I'd rather you keep a smile, than a grim look for as long as I'm going to know you."

He averted his gaze in disregard, and returned to his food. Thinking that she had prattled on for quite some time, Manald kept quiet to avoid causing Skull's exasperation. Reluctant as she was to leave such perfect atmosphere, she left the assassin to relish in his meal in peace. However, as much as she hated to depart, Manald longed to keep him company.

"You have yet to answer Sagi. Anyway, rest early," she spoke softly, turning to leave for the mansion. She hardly expected it at all, but a hand grabbed her arm, stopping her. The priestess's heart suddenly leaped a beat.

"Be on your guard. And… don't end up like how you did earlier," Skull advised, quickly releasing his hold on the blushing priestess after he realized what he had just done in the heat of moment.

"All the more you should stay with us," Manald responded after she found her voice.

Desperately fighting the embarrassment she subtly displayed, the best thing to do was to return right away.


	38. Bleak night

-38-

_The wind howled around him. A slight drizzle pattered down the overcast skies, that only bringing the atmosphere of doom. Tien lay on the bloody ground, staring at the horror before him. Every single one of his guild member was tied to a stake, but they did not put up any form of struggle. They were not conscious at all. _

_Surrounding the stakes were the four great superiors: Stormy Knight, Abyss Knight, Doppelganger and Lord of Death. The monk seemed to be insubstantial; no one saw him, and he could not move his body at all. It was as if his body was immobilized by some sort of magical bindings. He even tried to shout, but he had no voice. Watching the sight before him in resignation, the four cackled as they expunged the victims._

'_Noooo!'_

Tien sprang up in fright. Beads of sweat rolled down his scarred cheek unceasingly, his heart refusing to stay calm. Once again, he thought about his guild members who had died so unexpectedly. A fire flared suddenly, drawing his gaze to the fireplace. Pay stood looking worriedly at him.

"I've slept past dusk," Tien realized.

"Its midnight already, if you must know," Pay said. "You've been murmuring non-stop in your sleep."

"I can't take this lying down. I need to avenge what's taken away from me. I need to…"

Pay sighed and took a seat beside the monk.

"What bad dreams are you having again?"

Tien's dreamy look suddenly focused on the hunter.

"The four bastards took my passion away from me, my blood and my sweat…"

"Are you not thinking about it again? Till now you're still harping on it!"

"Don't let the euphoria of Moonlight's defeat get the better of you," Tien answered. "It has only just begun. The four's dominion over Rune-Midgard is what everybody should look out for."

"I'm well aware of it. This crisis in the town… is just a mere speck of dust as compared to what threatens the world."

"Nevertheless, this evil streaming from the cave is unlikely to cease permanently. We have to protect Payon despite the bigger danger," Tien said matter-of-factly.

"Prontera is what the four that target. With the strongest fortress's fall, the others would definitely succumb one by one, until they were being worshipped."

The straw on the roof shuffled as a wind went by. The stars were absent this night, as if too hiding from the inevitable danger like any other civilians in other cities. The temperature was rather low, and Pay was forced to dump more firewood into the furnace to augment the temperature.

"Assuming Prontera had found a few alliances, that may not be sufficient. It is right that we sacrifice our men to their aid."

Tien absent-mindedly rubbed his prickly chin.

"You already said it. What can an assumption do? Our men are dwindling by the day, and those damned beings in the caverns are multiplying. I'm afraid we could not offer even a warrior to Prontera."

"The townsmen are always caught in the danger," Pay said as he fiddled with a piece of firewood. "After all we must still ensure their safety."

"I'm thinking we might request for reprive over from Alberta."

"No, they should and they must be fighting for Prontera's cause. Ours are second to that."

"It is necessary for the townsmen to migrate to safer cities temporarily. What worries me may be the men's traditional way of thinking. They may disapprove of the move."

"What do you have in mind?" Pay asked.

"I'm thinking Comodo."

Pay stopped rubbing himself when the house became warmer. He threw another firewood into the furnace, the flames flaring up briefly.

"Very well. I guess the cave demons' pace of attack would decrease tremendously, considering the death of Moonlight Flower and the newly formed security outside the caves."

The wooden door to the hunter's house burst open without a warning, startling both men. Elemire ran frantically into the house and tugged at both of them.

"What's wrong?" Pay asked in exasperation. "Its already past midnight!"

"The demons are coming on us again! The small security force is dying by groups!"

Now they did not need the huntress to tug them off. Looking at each other in horror, Tien and Pay bolted off after Elemire. As Tien ran, a strange feeling overwhelmed him. He had a feeling that this night he would determine if Moonlight was truly eliminated for good, or not.


	39. Showdown: Doppelganger vs Lord of Death

-39-

"Lord of orcs!" the second-in-command bowed and knelt fearfully. "Me come to… to rep… report our loss against St Caprina! Please spare us! We failed you! We failed you! It's all black wizard's fault!"

The great silver figure astride his mount looked down on the pathetic orc with those demonic eyes. Behind the second-in-command were the survivors of the battle against St Caprina, kneeling with their heads low in shame and fright. They knew that their new lord was someone who would never tolerate a loss, otherwise the punishment that they dreaded would befall them. Every single orc had not forgotten how one of their comrades disintegrated with a slap of Death's great sword.

"You've failed. I already knew when you returned without your commander," Death's cold voice croaked. "Stand up."

The second-in-command refused to budge at first, but after a brief thought, it was wise not to defy whatever he instructed. He gathered himself back to his feet, but with his head still bent low.

"Look at me."

The orc survivors knew their second-in-command would face the unavoidable wrath. A few dared to peek at the sight, their jaws trembling uncontrollably. The only thing they could do for their second-in-command was to pray that his soul would rest in peace.

The second commander slowly lifted his head up and matched the lord's gaze. He suddenly felt drawn into those demonic orbs, an invisible force sucking the life out of him. He desperately extracted his eyes off Death's gleaming eyes, but it was futile for it was transfixed. His insides churned and wriggled violently, forcing it to spill out of his body. The orc's mouth was opened in a silent scream –and degenerated into a pool of green ichor.

Those orc who peeked involuntarily let out a stertorous noise as their second commander was reduced to a mere green pool of liquid. Death reined his steed forward.

"Listen up, the useless lot of you! By failing your first task you have insulted me greatly. I shall tolerate no… such… defeats. All of you shall be given a chance to live, but upon another fault, your chance to prove your worth would be eternally dashed."

The orc survivors bear those words in mind, and saluted Death before returning to their camp. The massive silver knight polished his great sword, readying it for the next group of orcs in case they brought similar news of such disappointment. As he waited for the next batch, his lips moved to mutter something. "The black wizard again..."

-

-

-

Doppelganger hid himself well in the thick plantations near the orc camp. He had witnessed the Lord of Death's action all these while, a feeling of disdain rising. Death had completely forgotten about him after he stole the Strength Trait, and now he was happily commanding orc forces!

The once cheerful swordsman now turned vicious. His eyes flared a red glow, his mind replaying the scene where the orc commander literally melted with Death's mere gaze. The Strength Trait was a mighty and invaluable possession indeed, but what in he could match against it? Perhaps a slight contact by the sword, and he would be dead. Death's plots became distinct as Doppelganger finally understood why the silver knight ran off in a hurry during his fight with the two sentries.

"Damn you, knight…"

The phantom swordsman continued to watch as another larger batch of orcs reported to the Lord of Death. The warriors genuflected before the great knight just like how the earlier group did, the commander kneeling with most deference at the forefront. Apparently the orc commander had brought forward news of a victory, for Death uttered a short laugh in appreciation. Waving off the orc, the large force returned to their camp. Doppelganger wished he had a Trait, or any other unique abilities that could make him omnipotent. Right now he only wanted to tear the knight to shreds, despite the not-to-be-underestimated Strength Trait. His mind suddenly burned, the battle against the Orc Hero re-surfacing…

"_I'm going to kill you, and take your Agility Trait!"_

That sentence by the Orc Hero stirred his memories. Why did he mention the Agility Trait? He doubted if he ever heard such a thing. Yes, there was not a mistake about it. The Orc Hero mentioned him possessing so. Come to think about it, if there were Strength Traits and Intelligence Traits, why not an Agility Trait?

The truth started to unravel as he realized his natural ability to do everything extraordinarily fast. Be it a battle, a walk, or whichever task he did, it was definitely not done at a normal pace. It was very likely that the Orc Hero spoke the truth. Doppelganger began to rejoice at the idea. There was something in him that could rival that of the Lord of Death after all! But something bugged him. He did not even know he had the Trait of quickness, so how in the hades did Orc Hero had such knowledge?

Feeling ill at ease, Doppelganger feared that he himself might become an object being hunted down all these while. It was better for him to remain out of everyone's sight after he managed to slay Death.

For quite some time, the swordsman brooded over the best way to confront the Lord of Death. But there was a matter of importance worth taking note of. Whatever he did, no orcs had better interfere. "Yes, I'll assume nothing had happened…"

-

-

-

"Lord of orcs! I've found you a prisoner!" an orc sentry reported as he pushed the teenage swordsman onto the ground. "Me leave you alone, lord of orcs."

Death waved the sentry away. Chuckling to himself, he picked the swordsman up.

"It is you, Doppelganger."

The blonde swordsman freed himself by snapping open the ball'n'chain effortlessly. The pretentious swordsman tried his best to suppress his fury, putting on the mischievous grin he always did. Most of all, he had to act himself and not leak out even the slightest hint of his true emotions.

"We'll talk right inside the orc dungeon, Doppelganger," Death boomed as his muscles twitched.

Death led the swordsman down the rickety stairway, and further deeper into the stagnant dungeon. Hundreds of orc zombies and the bats clustered about in the mossy dungeon, a foul wave of death and decay reverberating through it.

"You will see nothing of such in level two. I've cleared it out for my usage," the great silver knight explained.

"It's just as foul-smelling. You certainly have a knack for seeking such places," Doppelganger commented.

The legion of undead in the dungeon scattered off at the two superiors' sight, making way for them. The two traversed into the second level of the dungeon with ease; as Death said, this level was indeed free of any sort of demons. And, the decaying odour was not as concentrated as it was in level one. However, those brown, damp walls and decomposing matters still remained. Trickling of water was heard deeper in the dungeon.

"You've done a job worth complimenting. By slaying the orc hero, the orcs would have to submit their fate to us. If you have wishes, I could assign a force at your disposal," Death offered.

'Hah, how generous of you, big knight,' the swordsman thought. And how meticulous was he. Sapping away the Strength Trait, gaining ownership over the orcs and now to make it up for him, a force of useless green-skins was assigned to him? He could stomach this insult no longer.

"I see you've developed yourself quite a bit with that Strength Trait, Death. To think you're so nonchalant about the other affairs," Doppelganger smirked.

"And what would that be, lowly swordsman? I see you've realized only now, haven't you?"

"That affair would be slaying you!"

Doppelganger whipped out his scimitar and scored a hit on Death's right shoulder. The silver knight stood calmly, dismissing the little injury that was almost identical to a chonchon's sting, if not lesser. Chuckling again, he let Doppelganger have his share of fun before he unleashed his true powers.

Leaving himself open for attack, Death's laughter echoed as Doppelganger's attempts to weaken him would eventually prove unfruitful. He basked in the power of the Strength Trait…

Doppelganger gave up physical blows. Extending a palm, he conjured a block of ice to encase the great silver knight. Almost effortlessly, Death stepped out of it unharmed.

"I advise you forget about this unnecessary fight, swordsman. Either you join me in my conquests, or perish and let the great one possess your Agility Trait!"

Screaming in rage, Doppelganger amplified his powers through the popular art in the knighthood, Two-Hand Quicken. His sword arm now working twice as fast as before, he sent a blurry series of slashes at Death's arm, hoping to accomplish both injuring his sword arm and knocking the weapon off him. A large pool of shimmering blood formed underneath Death's feet. The knight's sword arm was critically wounded, not to mention his ribs.

"Hah! You're not as mighty as you seem, big knight!" the shadowy swordsman mocked.

Deciding to end Doppelganger's euphoria and existence, Death had had enough of it. Drawing out his massive silver sword with the uninjured arm, he pointed the blade at the swordsman. A miasma surrounded Doppelganger, causing breathing difficulty and watered his eyes. He felt a portion of his powers diminishing; it was as if the cloud of mist carried it away. He took a test swing with his scimitar –and his speed of attack became slower than his usual by two fold.

"What can you do now, kid? Before I turn nasty forget about this silly fight, and return to the camp."

"Never!" Doppelganger yelled in defiance.

Nullifying his decreased agility with another speed-boosting spell of his own, he raised his scimitar overhead, and gave it a precise downward blow. It could have smashed Death's skull, if he did not sidestep. Yelling again, Doppelganger aimed for those injured ribs. But a metallic foot jammed into his side, knocking the swordsman to the far end of the dungeon. The puddles of water on the floor rose and splattered, the wall dented with the shape of a human following the dramatic crash.

Death looked at his injured arm, then at Doppelganger, as if telling him mentally that he would have to pay for those wounds he inflicted. The great silver knight held the sword with both arms, and slammed the blade onto the ground with all his might he could muster. The ground heaved and rippled, a shockwave smiting Doppelganger squarely in the chest. The force flung him hard into the wall once again, forming the second human-shaped dent.

Due to the immense energy of the shockwave, the ground itself cracked, and splintered apart, creating two platforms. Refusing to admit defeat until the battle has concluded, Doppelganger picked himself up, determined to finish off this knight however powerful he could be.

Grabbing his scimitar, he ran over the chasm to attempt another attack either at the arm, or the ribs. The inertia of his run was too great; he was unable to stop. Without realizing it, he slammed face-first into the raised boot of Death. His scimitar flew off his hands and down the newly formed chasm.

"Damn you, cursed knight," Doppelganger swore.

Death reached a gloved hand to grab the swordsman's hair, hauling him up to stand. The massive tower shield he carried with him materialized onto his bleeding arm.

"Learn to accept defeat, lowly swordsman. Why don't you listen…" Death whispered as he beat down the swordsman with the tower shield.

Blood ran freely down the fallen swordsman's nose, his face swollen with numerous bruises. Yet he still refused to back down. Even without his sword, he could make good use of his magic. Gathering what powers remained in him, Doppelganger summoned a cloud of darkness right in Death's face, blinding him temporarily. Death swiped his sword randomly, but none of it touched the swordsman. Doppelganger took advantage of the knight's temporary disability and created a blizzard. Shards of ice blasted randomly around Death, the freezing explosion scraping the places where his skin was exposed. Apparently, his armour was severely damaged too.

The swordsman wished he had his scimitar with him right now. Shaking off the temptation to retrieve his sword, Doppelganger produced a wave of darkness, sweeping Death backwards. He wanted him to be driven into a corner. With the blizzard concluded, his powers failed him. Weakness and dizziness assailed him, the vicious attacks made by Death debilitated him. The determination that fuelled him vanished.

Doppelganger looked up to see no one. This was it, he thought. He waited for a sword to pierce him from behind, but nothing came. It was a mistake to summon a blizzard after all, for the confusion gave the Lord of Death ample time to recover from his blindness and set him up.

"Get out! Stop hiding like a coward!" the blonde swordsman screamed as he summoned a pillar of green energy to rejuvenate himself thoroughly.

Feeling his exhaustion replaced with renewed vitality, Doppelganger cautiously scoured the area for the hidden knight. Given his size, it was baffling how he could remain unseen. Unless… he was below the chasm.

He edged towards the opening. With an offensive spell prepared on his lips, he dared a look down it. A flash of silver came across, then a curved blade buried deep into the swordsman's left shoulder, the tip of the blade protruding out of his back. Death had used the swordsman's very own scimitar to inflict a major wound. The silver knight released his hold on the hilt as Doppelganger fell backwards.

"I've warned you to forget about this fight. You have yourself to blame now," Death said his last piece, sheathing his great sword. He looked with disdain at the limp form, and stalked off with the look of an undying pride.

"No… not quite yet," a young, but strangled voice sounded immediately behind him when he walked up to the first level.

A scimitar plunged through his grand armour all the way until the curved blade protruded out of Death's upper chest. The great silver knight roared as the demonic fluid spurted out of the macabre wound. Grabbing the portion of the blade jutting out of his chest, he snapped it into two halves. Death spun around and gave the swordsman a toe kick. Doppelganger went careening several feet, crashing through a beam. Unfortunately for him, the impact aggravated his grave wound in his shoulder. He writhed in pain, but the satisfaction of his successful hit on the silver knight's chest somewhat gave him a bittersweet feeling.

A monstrous neigh brought him scrambling to his feet once more, with much effort than he had expected. Silver, Death's steed, neighed again as it glared at the swordsman with those beady red eyes. Raising its forelegs, it began a charge at him. Silver galloped faster and faster, the wind rushing madly behind it. It's hooves were about to strike him hard, then a wave of darkness countered the charge. Silver fell on its side, the gleam in the eyes faded.

"Silver!"

The infuriated Lord of Death staggered into level two, the great sword and the tower shield in each hand.

"Stay down, for good!"

The atmosphere was electrified, when both severely wounded superiors struggled to battle it out with their last ounce of strength. Gathering all that he has got, Death gritted his teeth against the excruciating pain to create yet another shockwave with his great sword. Doppelganger seemed to be impervious to the powerful force as the impertinent swordsman advanced through it.

Putting the duplicating move into use again, Doppelganger ran around the knight at ghostly speed until he became a swirling greyness. The number of Doppelganger decoys multiplied as he ran faster, hoping in vain that this could confuse Death. The silver knight merely stood clutching his chest in a hunch, planting his blade into the ground to support himself.

"**ENOUGH!" **Death bellowed with such fervour that it seemed to sent the very foundation of the dungeon vibrating.

Laying the tower shield on the ground, Death extracted the great shimmering sword –and slammed it against the shield with what strength still remaining within him, summoning the entire Strength Trait to lend him additional might. A blinding white light flared into life, a deafening screech piercing even the toughest armour. Deep rumblings was followed by a sound of the ground cracking to form more chasms. A series of shockwaves, each twice as destructive as the next, sent pillars and even the ceiling toppling.

In the middle of it all, a large crater with a depth that one could not see the base was formed. The last Death saw, all decoys, probably including Doppelganger himself, disappearing beneath the crater that looked like it connected to the abyss. The scent of a superior was gone. The decayed odour was gone too. What lingered around were the smell of granite and cement.

Death glanced downwards to look what was left at his feet. His sword and his shield had become scraps of waste metal, the two equipments sacrificed to create such deadly effect. He staggered with agony to the edge of the crater to find a scimitar dangling at the edge of the deep, dark hole.


	40. The aftermath

-40-

The orcs were long gone. The Prontera forces did not understand the aim behind their retreat, since the odds were against the defenders. Some ruled out the possibility that this was done to decrease their numbers so as to facilitate the next assault. Unfortunately for the hosts, they suffered heavy casualties that included damaged gates and walls, a huge loss of men and severely injured militia.

There was much to be done this night. The injured had to be tended to in the church, and they had to recover as quickly as possible to meet the next onslaught by the unforgiving orcs. Even inexperienced acolytes had to contribute to the healing process, for the priests were shorthanded.

The deceased were removed from the battlegrounds and buried hastily in the plot of land behind the church. Prayers were chanted to bless the souls of those who had so readily sacrificed their lives for the sake of the city. King Tristan the Third had ordered a disbanding of every guild in this city, and the members were to join their respective departments depending on the job they undertook.

Almost everybody, including the civilians who had evacuated, passed a slow and restless night. They were deprived of proper rest to butter up whatever defences they could offer as of this moment. Even swordsmen were employed to serve the meagre numbers of foot soldiers who had fallen by a great number. A handful of knights were also assigned to the foot soldiers force, for there was a heavy shortage of Pecopeco.

The constructors were instructed by the supervisors to abandon the minor works, and repair the west gates as soon as possible. They were glad that at least they did not have to re-construct the south gate that was attacked, all thanks to the Fiendbanes and the group of men led by the Avenger knight leader, Cerberus. Perhaps the only knight who was not wounded too heavily, Cerberus received compliments from the two warlords, and some looked up to him for motivation. Larzen had asked him to join the Prontera military, but he just said he would fight alongside, and that would not be of any necessasity.

Defenders of Prontera were fully caught by surprise for they did not expect the orcs to make use of catapults and large boulders to barrel them to their deaths. This upset the hunters in Prontera when several boulders crashed into the walls, sending most of them falling to their deaths. Only a few number of hunters remained, those sent to defend the south gates were totally wiped out by similar means.

The two warlords, knowing full well that Payon could hardly spare any of their hunters due to their own struggle against Moonlight Flower and her legion of cave demons, sent messengers to request nonetheless. They knew they were being selfish, but they were driven to their wits end. An add-on to their army was much needed, unless they wanted to be overrun by the green-skinned beasts. Rumours had been circulating in the barracks that the orcs could be under a new superior, for the Orc Lord had not been too hostile all these years.

Meetings after meetings were held in the political chamber of the castle, the king having exhausted himself since the battle. Strategists, advisors and other ministers discussed heatedly about the upcoming showdown, and methods to defeat the four. However, the latter proved to be a tough nut to crack, for they could come up with no well-founded means to do so.

The meetings stopped only now, allowing ample time for the king to rest, even though he was unable to rest well this night. The advisors had gathered that the earliest wave of attack that may come again would be within the next night. Yet, no thorough preparations were complete. The men expected early response for their request for reinforcements, but there was no sanguinity in it. It was likely that the other cities were keeping their own forces back for upcoming threats. Every warrior convalescing in the barracks or in the churches passed the night with grim anticipation for the blare of horns.

-

-

-

"You, come! A couple more mugs!" Piffy shouted among the din.

"Aye, right away!"

The barkeep quickly filled two mugs to the brim with Prontera's own brew, and waded over to the alchemist's table.

"Only the two of you?"

"Yes," Cerberus said, knowing that the barkeep was curious as to where were the other five. "Just the two of us this night."

Piffy sniffed the mug and licked the foam at the top. Hardly resisting himself, he took two large gulps that drained half the mug. The other customers recognized Cerberus, and started hailing him the hero responsible for driving off the orcs from the south gates. The knight merely dismissed their praises, and pushed the credit to the two warlords' Fiendbane Enforcers. However, they continued recognizing him as the main hero.

"You've become popular overnight, lad," Piffy said with a wink.

"They don't seem the least worried," came the knight's reply.

Whistling a tune, Piffy stared out of the window as he sipped at his almost empty mug. Cerberus set down his mug of ale, sighing away as he brooded over the future of Prontera, and how in the abyss were they going to cancel the four's existence once and for all.

"I fear very much for us all. We will give it all we have now. I myself doubt if we're seeing the rest anytime soon, or maybe never."

"You're the source of motivation for us, lad. Set an example," Piffy reminded the knight.

"I can't bring myself to it. You've just witnessed it; the orcs alone already caused such devastation, let alone the four combined. Its too much for us to take it."

"If we're so doomed we'll drink till we drop dead!" Piffy said, raising his second mug. "While we have the chance."

Cerberus emptied his mug of ale, then closed his eyes to think back of the good times he had with his guild. He was starting to miss them, and he was longing to see them for the last time before his and Prontera's demise.

"What are the rest doing, I wonder?"

"The king's vile, I tell ya," Piffy spoke. "Skull and co were now hailed at the St Caprina heroes, I heard. Apparently the orcs too invaded the monk home. Yet, the king's still hunting him down."

"A wanted man remains a wanted man, no matter how much you try to redempt yourself after the escape," the knight remarked.

"I tell ya that lad has wits larger than a dragon!"

"And that brings him nowhere but a dragon's mouth."

Piffy laughed heartily and downed half of the second mug.

"You, come! A couple more!"

The barkeep, who was trying to settle a brawl between a drunken rogue and a bard, gave him a thumbs up and hurried to the counter. Moments later two mugs were plopped onto the table. Piffy handed him some coins, and the barkeep returned to the unsettled brawl, which was intensifying. The bard had smashed his guitar through the rogue's head, knocking him out instantly.

"Ten points!" Piffy cheered at the impact of the dramatic blow.

"Pretty good axe you've found yourself. You definitely sliced some orc meat hard," Cerberus said with a grin, trying to forget about the tension.

"Yeah! Of course! Smith loaned me that; that lad's got a larger collection of axes than I thought!"

Cerberus stifled his laugh. He knew the alchemist was a frugal person. But when it comes to good beer, he would be more than willing to part with his coins. Standing up, he drank the warming ale in his mug.

"Don't get a hangover, friend. We've got business tomorrow morning."

"Where you headed? Stay a while longer!"

"Nah, I've got business at the barracks," Cerberus explained as he left the rowdy inn, and into the cool, yet dismal night.


	41. Bloodlust

-41-

The ground gave way, then disappeared. In the pillar of blue light drifted the four companions, the warp portal churning them out into the ruins of Geffen. As they landed onto solid ground and the portal faded away, the usual wave of giddiness swept over them. But that ailment was swiftly overcame, for they were accustomed to such effects.

The ruins of Geffen remained intact; nothing remarkable was noted, except that the corpse of dead sorcerers were either piled into several corners unceremoniously, or undergoing a decomposition process. Some even had the flesh completely removed by flies and other scavenging predators, leaving behind a skeleton. Most of it was almost resembled a skeleton thinly wrapped with carrion. Just days ago, a concentrated and welcomed scent of magic lingered over every corner and hole. Right now, what had been replaced was an unbearable pungent smell of decay. No hint of any sorcery prevailed, except for the two mages among the four companions.

The white stones that made up most of the walls were charred and broken. It was difficult to walk among it, for major obstacles like pillars and collapsed buildings hindered entry to certain corners. The restless souls of the dead roamed the ruins, the four of them occasionally sensing a chilling touch past their scuffle.

Their search in the ruins was carried out only half heartedly, given the limited places to traverse. The ground was rather uneven; rocks and debris layered the once blue, cobbled streets, and corpse laid everywhere. Finding nothing of use that gave them knowledge on the current situation, the companions left the ruins to head south.

"We should find ourselves a place to camp, before we observe the orcs," Sagi said as they walked the open fields of Geffen.

Manald nodded her approval, while the other two morroc-born warriors kept silent to listen out for danger. Sagi gripped his Staff of Soul to provide him with the ease and satisfaction, as he kept a lookout for a suitable spot. Being a person who liked wandering, Maraulea assisted with much enthusiasm. Skull had told her to seek it sooner, for they were noticeable targets for the orcs.

That, however, was not the only matter he concerned himself with. He knew that the high officials were still on the move, and his heroic deeds might not be redemption enough to clear away his wanted status. Fortunately for him, the assassin's trained senses detected nothing hostile around them. Only the chirping of the birds or the soft screeching of insects populating the grasslands sounded.

Maraulea walked over to Skull, and grabbed him by the arm.

"What do you want?" the assassin almost shouted.

"Wasn't that what you did to Manald the last night, Immuonnas? Romantic, it was. Gave me goosebumps," she said cheekily.

Skull whipped out his assassin mask to hide his darkened cheeks. Jerking off her hand, he left for a dense wood he discovered located not too far to their east. Apparently Manald heard the rogue's excited speech, for she suddenly remained silent for a while. The priestess recalled the night before, how she walked off in embarrassment when the assassin grabbed her arm. When she thought it was over, the rogue came into the guest chamber where she slept for the night to further jest at the priestess whose blush would not go off. But at least she was glad that Skull did not find her a pest for once.

The weak sun was starting to be overwhelmed by the clouds. Skull led his other three companions into the woods, at the same time making sure that no malicious demons or orcs happened to be in the vicinity. Sure enough, Skull's discovery of the forest led them to a small clearing in it. Maraulea scouted a distance deeper into the woods, then returning to report nothing of harm that was around, confirming Skull's senses.

"We'll make do with this place," Sagi said, fiddling with his necklace that was nothing more than an ordinary white and black ring locked into each other. The black robed wizard cast a Sight-Thrasher during the rogue's absence, a ring of sentient flames forming to scatter into a distance, warding off possible hostility. The flames returned to him and faded, an indication that it did not put up a resistance to anything. The priestess, finding herself idling, went off to gather a bundle of firewood for this night's use.

The four companions sat down, Maraulea announcing that this spot was an ideal one, because of its proximity to Orcville, and the abundance of rations that could be found. As if to emphasize on the latter, she dumped a bag full of red berries, and some other fruits.

"I guess that would be redundant, priestess," Sagi said. "Our campfire would draw unnecessary attention from the orcs, and we'll use my Staff for illumination when night descends."

Manald uttered a brief laugh of foolishness, and started the conversation.

"The orcs may not be leaving anytime soon, because of their recent attack on Prontera. I wish I knew how they were faring right now. I fear for their safety, especially those of the church. It must not be destroyed."

Seeing the priestess's tension, the rogue patted her on the shoulder.

"The church will remain intact, Man. For hundreds of years nothing had scratched it!"

The priestess smiled at her close friend's attempt to comfort her, but such news could only serve to make her utterly ill at ease. She could not imagine what would happen if the church fell; Prontera would be usurped by foul demons, and gradually the world would be plagued by their corruption and darkness. Her nightmares regarding the destruction of the church appeared vividly in her mind.

"You are being overly worried. As far as I gather, the worse that could happen to Prontera would be a great loss of men. What I heard back at St Caprina, none involved damaging of the church," Sagi reassured.

"I sense some orcs nearby. If they had defeated Prontera, they would not be idling here," Skull added.

Apparently the assassin's words soothed the priestess the most, for her concerned countenance was now of relieve. Either that perfectly made sense, or was it some other reasons, Manald smiled to indicate the abandoning of her worry.

"I will capture an orc," Skull suddenly broke the brief silence. "Either that, or I'll cause a distress."

"_We_ will," Sagi corrected as he stroked the staff laid across his lap.

Shrugging in disregard, the assassin delayed no longer and darted off into the woods alone.

"Let him," the wizard said when he noticed Manald eyed after the assassin wistfully, until he was out of sight. "He had better learned his lesson."

-

-

-

Skull ducked and leaped to avoid entangling into the hanging vines and loose branches. He skimmed through the woods at commendable speed, finally skidding to a halt when he heard distant rumblings and deep voices. Tip-toeing gingerly further down the receding woods, Skull watched two orc sentries arguing something in orcish tongue. He then proceeded to move even more cautiously so as not to step on a branch.

The two orcs argued for a little while more before deciding to return to their camp for food. But a sound stopped them mid-track.

"Who there!?" an orc sentry switched to common.

The orc who spoke cautioned towards the source of the noise, but his comrade held him back, saying something that he was hungry beyond measure. Muttering something under his breath, the orc turned to follow his partner who was already jogging back to camp. A clatter of a branch caused the orc to return with assurance that there was somebody spying the camp. A thick branch lying in the middle of the trail confirmed his hunch. Stopping over to look into the woods, he screamed as a red-tipped katar flew across his eyes, blinding him permanently.

"Quiet, before I slit your throat," Skull pointed his left katar up the orc's thick neck, hoping that his screams did not alert his partner. He held the orc hostage, and dragged him back into the woods near the camp. The orc flailed about, trying to touch his surroundings in frantic.

"Who you!? Who you!?"

"Tell me what you know," Skull demanded. "Otherwise…"

He pointed his katar a little harder into the green hide, demonstrating his promise to slay him if he put up any form of struggle.

"Speak! You're just blind, not mute!" the assassin half shouted in frustration.

"You… you cut my eye! Me blind! No! No want to live!" the orc merely replied as he tried to impale himself into the katar pointed up his neck. Lucky for Skull, he restrained that attempt as he flipped his hand, the orc's chin knocking into the flat of his katar instead. Skull put away his Infiltrators and wrapped an arm around the orc in a headlock.

"Spill it!"

Blood poured profusely down the orc's closed eyes, the green-skinned sentry bent on committing suicide.

"I will consider freeing you, and heal your eyes. Out with it, right now!"

Skull's last words seemed to have some effect on the orc. The cries had dwindled, and the orc began to speak in a guttural manner, like any other orcs did.

"Orcs under new lord of orcs. Orcs fear lord of orcs –"

"Who?"

"Big knight. Big silver knight with big silver horse," he answered in discomfort, more because of the mentioning of his new lord rather than his eyes.

Skull eyes widened. This can't be… he thought.

"Lord of Death…"

"Yes, big silver knight ordered attack on Prontera and Caprina."

"What caused the Orc Lord's death?" Skull pursued with much interest.

"I talk too much… no!"

Skull could stand the orc's cries no longer. Whipping out his Infiltrators, the assassin punctured the orc's chest, and it immediately died down. After all, the orc was wasting too much time for revealing the information reluctantly. That was all he had to know so far. He had wanted to spare the orc, and threatened him to provide him with more information day in, and day out. But the risk was huge, for the orc did not trust him at all and he would blurt out about him. No orc must know his camp, and his intensions.

Bringing out the mindless killer in him, Skull raced out of the woods and into the orc camp. Noticing a few sentries with their back turned to him, he flew out of the woods and above them, plunging his Infiltrators precisely into their brain. Within a short moment, the sentries fell dead.

A score of orc warriors caught a glimpse of the orc sentries' death. Skull did not bother to hide himself. He would take on them. The orcs ran at him tightly clustered together, their axes gleaming as if eager to spill some blood. The first orc was about to thrust his axe into him, but the assassin had schemingly retracted into the woods. The orcs were not fools either. Replacing their axes with javelins, the score of orc warriors hurled a volley of it at where the assassin last disappeared, expecting to hear a dying scream. But what greeted them instead, was a flying dagger aimed at the first orc. The dagger hit true, burying deep into his neck. Groaning in pain, he fell dead.

The remaining stared wide eyed at each other, determined to hunt out the assassin for killing their comrade. A few swore in their native tongue, damning the assassin to the hells. Another volley followed, and they returned to usage of axes. The group edged slowly into the woods with axes brandished, ready to hit anything that came their way. A rustle of leaves brought them closer to a suspicious shrub, where the assassin might be hiding. One orc tried firing a javelin through it, only to find nothing behind it. Before they knew, another flash of silver had that orc wriggling in pain. A dagger similar to the previous was imbedded deep into his heart.

The rest had no time to do anything about it. Skull shot out of nowhere, slaying two orcs at the same time with the swing of each hand. One orc managed to steal a hit on the assassin's shoulder blade, but his reward was an instant death. The assassin blazed with madness, the pair of Infiltrators whirling in a frenzied dance to decimate the score of orcs. An orc had wanted to flee the scene to shout for reinforcements, but Skull flew an envenomed dagger into its back, causing the poisoned orc to die from the effects.

The insatiable killer felt that this score of orcs was not enough. The Infiltrators seemed to whisper into his ears, pleading him to feed them with more, and more blood he could ever spill. Skull succumbed to his subconscious self, dashing out of the woods to seek out more orc warriors.

He ran down the sandy trail that led to a large clearing with numerous tents, and further down an igloo-like structure could be seen. He immediately recognized it as the Orc Dungeon. But his foremost attention was on the closest group of orc sentries roasting a grand peco over a fire.

His initial intension to capture more orcs for information was overwhelmed by his bloodlust. The hungry group of orc sentries turned around just in time to receive a deep gash on their chest or other vital organs. Then, a horn blared, causing the whole sentry camp to come to live. Large groups of orcs ran over to the fire which was doused, but not the way the assassin expected. They had indeed become smarter, for some reason. Orcs began springing up from bushes all around him, while sentries had him trapped with spears aimed at him. Yet again, his recklessness had set himself up.

Defying death, Skull rushed into an empty tent as hundreds of javelins were thrown at free will towards him. The tent he took shelter in was pierced, then fell apart under the sheer pressure of the javelins, leaving him open for attack. He ducked and rolled over the ground to avoid as many javelins possible, even though it would be a miracle if none of these wooden missiles caused even a scratch on him.

Many javelins gashed his arms, thighs, and a couple even buried itself into his guts and ribs. Extracting them hastily, he went under the cover of another tent to shield himself from the spear-hurling frenzy that had a high chance of killing him. He hoped that Lord of Death would not come personally, otherwise things would definitely bode ill for him.

-

-

-

Sagizeulus knew nothing good would come out of the assassin's lone adventures. Either the impulsive man would be doomed, or barely alive. Taking his Staff of Soul in his hands, he made an excuse to do some experiments with his staff. The priestess and the rogue paid him little attention as they chatted among themselves.

The black robed wizard held his staff high. Vines and branches that hindered the passage winded away from his path upon the magic radiated by the staff. He trudged the temporarily cleared ground, and soon he was led to an area with shrubs more than trees. Further past the plantations was a trail that led to a large clearing with many tents set up in a scattered manner. A brown structure in the distance marked the centre of Orcville.

There were very few demons or other signs of life, for this was the Lord of Death's territory. Though no orcs were seen so far, Sagi continued to keep a distance from the camp possible to survey it. He saw many dead orcs along the way, some with a silver dagger sticking out them. The wizard did not need to guess the obvious work of the assassin. Boot-prints of Skull could be seen along the way, and it stopped abruptly at the entrance of the clearing.

The wizard heard a commotion. It could only come from the orc camp, for there were no other settlements or signs of life around except for these green-skinned beasts. He risked being in range of the orcs' spears by stepping out into the open trail, to spot the assassin though the hulking orcs blotted out his vision.

"Stubborn fool," the wizard muttered when he saw a crowd of orcs gathering methodically, as if trying to trap a prey. And the wizard guessed the prey to be Skull. He edged closer, while none of the orcs spotted him yet. They were shouting to each other in their own crude language, indicating to each other to throw their javelins. One orc shouted, and the rest started hurling a volley of javelins at a particular tent, and it fell apart. An injured assassin within staggered to another tent as another volley flew at him. But it was too late for the assassin. There was no time to take shelter anymore…

A wall of ice erected around Skull, the javelins striking the cold pillars instead of the human. Hundreds of javelins were imbedded into the walls, and it shattered. The orcs diverted their attention to the second intruder, to find a black-robed wizard who carried a Staff of Soul. They roared in anger, and hurled their javelins at him.

Sagi added another layer of defence around him with an Energy Coat, then raised a firewall. The volley of javelins flew past the firewall –and practically melted after disgorging out of it. None of it even grazed the wizard. Realizing that their ranged attack was of no use, a small group brandished their axes, preparing to eliminate the wizard.

Uttering a short laugh, Sagi finally had the chance to bring out the arcane prowess of the staff he possessed. Waving it in an arc, multiple globes of electricity sizzled the group, eventually their charred body fell following the dwindling of the high current.

The remaining ran forward nonetheless, undaunted by the sorcery. The wizard waggled his fingers for another spell, but in the midst of it an orc flung his axe to his arm, causing a deep gash on his forearm, interrupting the incantations. The other orcs thrust at him, but the staff deflected all of it. The utterly surprised orcs stared in disbelieve as the staff managed to overpower their raw strength.

Sagi pulled out a blue gemstone, summoning a safety wall to guard him. The orcs hit fruitlessly at the pink pillar, as it nullified any form of aggressiveness. Sagi focused on the spot where the orcs stood, and raised a pillar of flame each. The green-skinned beasts roared in agony as the flames held them firm, consuming every bit of their flesh till their skeletons remained.

He gathered that taking out the orcs individually would mean the assassin's death, for he was delayed. Sagi extended a palm, erecting a plot of earth to pummel the orcs into the air. Soon, it was as if the skies were raining orcs. The wizard smacked nearby orcs with his staff, sending them sprawling onto the floor unconscious.

Seeing the assassin resting against a tent, he grabbed him and the two disappeared into the woods. Several orcs gave chase, while the horns blared without end. Sagi raised walls of ice along the route, hoping that the orcs' progress would be deterred. The two ran, but Skull's injury slowed them down greatly. They could hear the orcs shattering the ice walls, their heavy footfalls gaining on them if they did not pick up speed. Suddenly, the orcs stopped chasing. All was silent for a while, until a wooden missile whizzed past the air, and struck Sagi's legs. The two fell as the orcs stepped victoriously over them…


	42. Belated realization

-42-

Contrary to what he opened his eyes to about a day ago, Stormy Knight, or rather, Storm, realized that the lair he was kept captive in was no longer a complete blackness. This time, a dim, wavering light barely illuminated his sight up to a certain radius. Yet, the same band of guardians continued keeping a close surveillance on him, though he was practically helpless. His head had a large swelling on it, and his head sustained a serious injury due to the blow by Baphomet. It felt as if a part of his skull was ripped apart by inhuman hands.

Thick iron chains wrapped around his limps, and it was magically enchanted by the great Baphomet to resist whatever ploys the blue knight had in mind. Not even his communication with Abyss through telepathy. Storm had submitted his fate to the massive goat superior, but his death just kept dragging on to god-knows-when.

Half the ruler of Glast Heim, Baphomet was bent on digging out whatever information he could out of Storm. When the knight remained silent defiantly, the goat superior would merely chuckle to himself and gesture for the band of guardians to attack at will. Storm, totally incapacitated, could only reveal fragments of it since he was in no condition to even talk.

The fragment that was told by Storm did little to satisfy Baphomet's expectations. Therefore, he decided to let Storm stay alive. Only to have the merciless band tormenting him beyond recognition. He was now more of a "brown knight", since little parts of his body was not marred with dried blood. The once proud knight had literally become a walking dead; he was now in a state that was equivalent to one of a chained up zombie, moaning out of pure suffering.

Storm guessed that Baphomet was within the lair, for the dim light would only indicate his presence. As if to make his presence further felt, the great goat superior thumped his scythe against the ground loudly, then made a gurgling noise. In his hand grasped a pulsing heart in a soup of blood, that of a human. When Storm's head turned his way, Baphomet licked at the bloody organ, then chomped on it in a gruesome manner. The heart made a soft squishing noise as his teeth sank into it, sending blood squirting out of his mouth. Storm made a snort as he rattled his chains.

"Delicious… that fool of a human," Baphomet said with his mouth full of chewed up heart.

Standing up, the goat superior strode purposefully over to the knight, planting his hooves on his spiky mane, but more on the swelling.

"Next reward for you, Knight of Windstorm, would be muting you. Shouldn't you be talking?"

Storm spat out a glob of blood that was causing discomfort in his throat, before rasping in a voice that did not sound anything like his own.

"K… K… Kill me. K… Kill m… me! Let me die!"

"Blame it on your carelessness, knight," Baphomet commented, increasing the pressure on the knight's head wound. Storm only screamed the louder, even forcing the band of guardians to take a step back involuntarily.

"Argh! Let me die!" Storm screamed again as blood began pouring down freely from the opened wound.

"In time to come, yes, but not until you tell me whatever you know," Baphomet responded with a sly grin that was hardly visible.

A Baphomet Junior stepped forth and jabbed its mini-scythe into the back of Storm. The knight grunted from the stab, but Baphomet cut it short with a kick across the face. Storm fell unconscious once again, the cries of agony and the rattling of chains stopped. But the only thing that did not stop, was the flowing of blood from macabre wounds.

"My patience wears thin," Baphomet boomed, causing his minions to cower. "Make sure that I do not receive such response the next round, otherwise the lot of you shall share his burden of hell."

The band of guardians made a soft noise out of fear, their minds racing to find means to make the knight talk before they ended up in his stomach. Baphomet took his scythe and left in a huff, and the lair plunged into an impenetrable darkness with the dousing of the flame.

-

-

-

"Foolish… totally foolish beyond estimation. That's a grave mistake, mister knight," a lone figure muttered to himself in the middle of the graveyard.

Glast Heim's second half ruler, Dark Lord, stood near a cluster of large tombstones. His bemusement was further exacerbated when the aura underneath his floating form suddenly flared a myriad of gloomy colours, and the hole where mud had been dug up earlier was filled mysteriously. That can only mean one thing. The Dark Illusion had failed to apprehend the Abyss Knight. All the better, the lord himself would not have to destroy his most trusted right-hand man personally, since he was in no mood to even do anything.

"Damn you Abyss Knight! Well now, the hunt had proven unsuccessful, it seems," the skeletal lord mumbled again in an angrier manner, then kicked apart the tombstones. "I'll take over, then."

The other fiends loitering the graveyard of Glast Heim wisely hid themselves in a corner, knowing that their lord was not exactly in a delightful mood today. They remained unseen, until Dark Lord floated off the graveyard premises. They too, hoped that the Abyss Knight would brace himself, for he was likely to face the unexpected.

-

-

-

The death of the Dark Illusion brought both bad and good news to Abyss. As for the latter, the mist of his plans was clearing, giving him a fine sight of success. As for the bad news, that would trigger a pursue by the Dark Lord himself, which he highly doubted he would emerge victorious if the two were to clash. The Dark Illusion was already a tough enough opponent, let alone the master. Moreover, he had sustained major burns from the skeletal subordinate of the graveyard lord.

Always making sure that the black flask was secured to him all the time, Abyss left the St Abbey church for Baphomet's grounds, the Glast Heim castle. At the same time, he would have a rendezvous with Storm, then they would return to the pit after seizing hold of the two halves of Intelligence Trait. When the four of them had their powers enhanced, defeating the strongest fortress in Rune-Midgard, Prontera, would be equivalent to bursting a poring apart.

He might be thinking too far ahead, but Abyss felt confident that everything was going to come to fruition very soon. The ebony knight had already realized that Storm had been missing from his thoughts. He only assumed that he was either busy sampling Glast Heim "cuisines", or too engrossed in his own task to contact him through telepathy.

Abyss had to move quickly, for it was almost effortless for the Dark Lord to catch up with his pace. He tried his best to travel through routes that were less obvious to demons, while it was a rather slow process. Still, a slow pace was than a risk of being seen. Abyss adjusted his sword belt to a more comfortable position so as to facilitate his climbs and descends.

A towering, dull grey castle loomed before him. Abyss's chest raced with excitement as this would be over soon. In fact, as soon as he entered the castle. The knight drew his black sword as he stepped up the stairs leading to the large opening, deciding that any demons who barred his way must be slain. No one had better stop him…

The castle interior was dark as always. Abyss knew that there would always be darkness when it comes to Glast Heim. He edged his way in the slightly opened double doors, his senses attuning to his new surroundings for any signs of demons. Surprisingly, the ebony knight did not fear the possibility of Baphomet's presence. Even if he was discovered, it would take a while for the massive goat to reach him from the depths of the castle. That would give him enough time to flee the scene, though the goat demons would definitely detect his presence in Glast Heim. Now, he was being pursued by Dark Lord. He certainly did not want another superior make Dark Lord's hunt easier.

Assuming that the coast was clear, Abyss unbuckled the black flask that was pulsing mildly from the contents within. The souls were eager to escape the flask where they were kept captive. Holding it up high before him, Abyss let it slip from his grip. Though he could see nothing in the dark, the knight could feel the shattering of the flask, and the restless, angry souls began pouring forth from the broken flask, a heavy purple mist even overwhelming the darkness of the castle.

There was a loud hissing noise, as more souls struggled out. The air was tainted with the odour of a corpse, while the purple mist clouded what appeared to be the entire foyer. When the last of the souls flew, a roar sounded, then it was all silent again. This was when the ritual would begin…

Abyss traced his finger in the thick purple smoke, drawing some intricate arcane symbols that looked foreign to anyone else. A wind suddenly picked up, the cape of the knight fluttering madly. Abyss chanted furiously repeatedly, drawing more complicated symbols after each.

Finally, it seemed that it had come to a conclusion, for Abyss withdrew his black sword upright, as if honouring the symbols before him. Then, muttering another short chant, he slashed his sword in a downward arc. The souls began to hiss once again, but they were no longer scattered over the castle. Instead, they began to gather at a particular spot, and _assembled_.

The insubstantial apparitions ranged from Evil Druids and Whispers, to Zombie Prisoners and Nightmares. Abyss raised his black sword, and cut through the air horizontally. Slowly, the souls became solid as one by one following the knight's spell of animation. But the most distinct resuscitated soul had to be the Dark Illusion. The only thing different about the skeletal mage was that, he now served no one except for Abyss Knight, the one who brought him back to existence. Dark Lord was no longer an influence over him.

Satisfied at his work, he uttered a sharp command that sent the animated beings captured from the graveyard rampaging the castle. Abyss could not see the damages caused by the demons due to the darkness, but judging from the deafening crashes and booms, the carnage was inconsiderable. More wreckage followed as the demons ventured deeper into the castle, the din becoming more distant.

The task done, Abyss tried to send a telepathic message to Storm, asking him to come out of the castle. However, no response came. It was not exactly strange that Storm did not respond, but somehow he felt a blockage in Storm's thoughts to everybody else. And, the talkative knight was always initiating a conversation. Come to think about it, there had been a silence the past couple of days. Storm was way too quiet…

Abyss began to realize the worst. The only logical explanation could only be the capturing of Storm by Baphomet, and that would too explain his silence. Nobody on the face of Rune-Midgard was able to lay down such a spell except for a superior. Turning back to the castle again, Abyss tightened his grip on his black sword as he ran through the darkness of the foyer.


	43. Lemonade and lime juice

-43-

Bodies of the dead security forces lay strewn outside the cave in a bloody mess. Some were utterly mutated, while some were limbless. Parts of Payon that were treaded by the cave demons became ravaged; trees were felled, houses were razed and everything that came in their way was exterminated instantly. Families which returned to stay after the first round of attack had to be evacuated once again, but this time with fewer survivors. Now, they _had_ to seriously consider the option of a temporary migration.

The batch of demons was similar to the previous round; there were sohees, bonguns, munaks and more zombies than ever. The only significant difference was that the demonic forces were about twice the amount of the last. This could only spell trouble. The two rangers, Pay and Elemire, brought down the incoming mass of demons, while the literally invincible monk, Tien, tore through the groups with ease.

They had to buy the town some time, so as to allow enough time for the remaining residents to flee. In fact, the sohees were the ones people had to look out for, since these ghostly ladies tend to float noiselessly behind their quarries and slit them with their daggers. First of all, the three of them needed to target the sohees, and kill as many as possible.

The Elite Hunter forces had long gathered upon learning the wiping out of the entire security forces. Volleys after volleys of silver arrows flew overhead, and landed in a rain of death. Bows were strung quickly, and the town seemed to be filled with endless humming of bowstring being pulled. As if to avenge the death of Sir Rockfist Senior, they shot with more fury, putting an end to the ceaseless horde.

His eyes flaring an unholy green again, Tien undertook the two jobs of punching the demons and aiding the residents in their escape. When busying himself with the latter, the monk had to instruct the two to provide him with support. The demons had crowded the bridge leading to the exit once again, to stop anyone's escape and prevent passer-bys to lend help. If they did, they were immediately slain.

Although Tien had always been the rash warrior he had been all these while, he knew that it was not wise to do so. He hoped that a group of warriors, or even the Elite Hunter forces, could be arrayed against the demons on the bridge instead of those rampaging the town. Seeing the Elite Hunter forces so caught up in their attack, it was best to rally a small group of warriors of his own. Moreover, the hunters were less likely to listen to his ramblings, for they heeded their commander solely, and in such a time like this, nobody in their right mind would set aside some time to listen to him.

"Hey!" Tien called out to his two companions. "To the bridge!"

The two complied as they battled off the group they were tackling. Along the way, Tien requested for men he deemed sturdy enough for a battle to follow him. Soon, he had about six men under him, not including Pay and Elemire. The group ran for the bridge, only to find the large group torturing a few men and those who intended to help the town.

Pointing a finger to his two companions, Tien instructed, "Shoot at them now!"

The monk gathered the small group of six, who were wearing simple armour and wielded a spear, and led them into the demons. While the demons guarding the bridge were stunned by a sudden attack of arrows, Tien and his band of warriors crashed through them, pooling them over the bridge and into the river deep below the gorge.

Streaks of electricity appeared and circled the monk, his skin turning a fearsome scarlet. His fist swelled with twice as much power, as did the Kaiser Knuckles he wore on them. Roaring a cry, Tien bashed the demons apart despite the injuries he was receiving in the charge. More arrows coming from the back felled a great number, as half of the bridge was cleared.

Pay, together with Elemire, fired relentlessly at the mob though their quivers were fast diminishing by their speed of withdrawal. But, it was well worth the effort after all, otherwise Tien and his men had might as well charge into their doom. Dark, demonic blood flew everywhere as arrows, spears and fists punctured their bodies, even ripping them apart. The group of six and Tien did not bother to kill the remaining demons, for exhaustion crept up to them. Rather, they flung them over the bridge, and let them fall to their death. It was tremendous work to drive them away, let alone killing them one by one.

With the last few demons remaining, Tien decided to bother the six no more.

"Your job is done! Go back!"

Summoning every ounce of energy he had left, Tien screamed his rage and pounded his fists right into the ground. A bright light flared as the energy snaked through the ground, finally erupting all over the demons, erasing their visages completely. Not one bit of their hide was seen left behind. The bridge was finally cleared, but not without damages caused by Tien's Asura Strike. Those who had wanted to help now streamed into the village, while Tien leaned against the railing, wheezing for breath. Then, as if the air was choked out of him, he collapsed onto the broken tiles.

The six who had been ordered to return to town did not do so, however, when they saw their "leader" fell, but they hoped that he must not die. They scampered back to the bridge again, supporting his unmoving form to a standing position.

"Get him out! Don't let him in even after he awakes," Pay instructed the men, before hurrying back into town with the huntress.

The odds were now tipped against the demons following the defeat on the bridge. Those who had been barred outside Payon previously now reinforced the current numbers, fighting alongside the Payon army valiantly. As their minds were only bent on driving the demons back into the cave, they had totally forgotten about residents who were trapped in their houses, some even caring less about them.

Another volley of silver arrows flew across the skies, and down onto the demons. The undead army had long identified their major threat as the Elite Hunter forces, which was damaging their numbers immeasurably. A large portion of the demonic forces went for the hunters even though arrows rained heavily on them. The silver arrows executed a dramatic effect on them, since these holy enchanted arrows were the key to counter the undead. Most fell upon the first hit, whether it did pierce into vulnerable spots or not. The hunters had to finish off this big group fast, otherwise they would be able to engage in a close-quarter combat with them. And partly because their forces were multiplying from the cave, there was no reason that they should not do it quickly.

After making sure that Tien was under proper care, Pay and Elemire returned to what might be a rout if the flow of demons was not put to an end.

"There! The demons are closing in on the hunters!" Pay shouted when he spotted the Payon forces.

Elemire was already on the run. Pay followed as she manoeuvred to the rear of the large demonic force marching to the hunters who were firing at them desperately. Finding a large pile of stone and straw from a collapsed house, the two crouched low behind it, and began taking down the undead from behind. They kept their operations in low profile, for they hoped to confuse them, and not alert them at the same time.

Arrow after arrow whistled out of nowhere, killing the demons marching at the back. The demons began to thinner, but at a rather slow speed. The two had to come up with something to delay their march towards the outnumbered hunters. Even if they had to divert their attention to them, there was still a chance that the hunters could counter without pressure.

Pay looked desperately around him, hoping to find something of use. He even dug among the pile of straw, and pushing aside slabs of stones to find items that was kept in this house once. His hands touched something that looked like a piece of cloth attached to a wooden pole. He tugged at the pole that was clamped tightly in between a crack in a large slab of stone. After a few futile tries, he pushed and moved the stone to another side. The cloth that was hidden underneath now revealed, and Pay muttered a single Chinese character written there.

"What's that?" Elemire asked the slightly surprised hunter.

"Do not stop! Focus on them!" came the sharp reply.

Pay remembered this character as the last name of a neighbour who was notorious for collecting potions, ranging from berserk potions, medical potions, concentration potions, almost everything under the sun. His face lit up up suddenly, as he began prowling madly at the straw, alerting a couple of zombies. But they were swiftly taken out by the sharp huntress.

"What are you doing? My efforts alone are not enough!" Elemire almost wanted to cry out to be heard, for Pay was literally submerged into the thick pile of the collapsed house.

Knowing that Pay would not bother replying her, or whether he heard her or not, she turned back to the battle. The Elite Hunter forces were drained, but kept a constant pace of attack nonetheless. Payon must be saved no matter what. A small group of demons shifted their focus onto Elemire when a loud shuffling of the straw and scraping of stone was heard. Elemire thought she heard a triumphant cry from Pay inside the pile, as she worked her fingers quicker than before.

"Hurry!" she shouted to the hunter.

Her fingers were all blistered and cut from the frequent drawing of bowstring, and her wrist threatened to fall off her forearm. But in order to save her skin, bleeding was nothing as compared to death. Bracing herself, Elemire willed herself as she pulled out more arrows to shoot off the demons.

Five fingers came out first, then slowly two hands appeared. Pay crawled out of the pile, but not without a spoil. He threw out a couple of cases, and began opening them.

"Hang on just for a moment," Pay reassured the huntress who had expended her energies. "Help is along the way."

Finally prying open the two cases, Pay almost gasped when he saw the contents. But there was no time for marvelling, for he had to help the huntress. In the case rested a large variety of potions of different colours. There were medical potions that was in red, green, blue, white and yellow, invigorating potions in beige and a dark red, and some other herbs that were supposed to be mixed into some potions.

"Drink this! As much as you can!" Pay said hopefully as he tossed Elemire a few bottles of greenish potion. "It's just the awakening potion. Don't worry."

The awakening potion, popular among everybody, was a drink that could improve one's reflexiveness and speed during a fight inconsiderably. Though he was tempted to drink the dark red berserk potion, he wrestled with it and reminded himself of the effect. This drink that was banned to everybody else except for those in the knighthood, would cause one to lose their sanity if they were not professionally trained as a knight, or a crusader.

"Yikes, tastes like lime juice," Elemire grimaced as she swallowed the sour mixture.

"This tastes like lemonade," Pay commented when he downed the bottle of concentration potion.

Feeling a surge of power in them, the two fought with renewed hope and madness. For strange reasons, the potion made them worked their hands by a speed that exceeded their usual by tenfold. Their eyes could not even see their fingers; it went to their quiver and back to their bow in a haze, and demons fell at an astounding rate.

The Elite Hunter forces tried to hide their befuddlement of the phenomenon. Arrows came out of nowhere, striking the demons faster than the forces could work in unison. But they took it in their stride; at least the demons were delayed, giving them time to clear the large group before they were forced to either flee or fight them in a melee combat.

"Damnimusthavetakenanoverdose!" Pay rumbled quickly.

"Whatareyoutalkingabout?" Elemire shot back equally fast.

Pay only sighed in irritation, not expecting the potion to even enhance the speed of his speech. Concentrating on the task ahead, the two rangers finally cleared off the demons till only a couple of dozens remained. Nocking another silver arrow, the Elite Hunter forces sent the finishing volley to end their advance.

-

-

-

Tien grunted as he forced himself to sit up. He expected more demons to appear before his sight, but instead the same six who had accompanied him in the bridge battle tended to him.

"We've… we've won?" Tien asked almost inaudibly.

"If you are referring to the battle of the bridge, sir, we did. But demons still lurk among the town," a younger man among the six answered.

"I did not expect Sir Rockfist Senior's son was just as efficient!" another commented with a wide smile.

"Help me up," Tien said. "They need me."

A hand held him back.

"No, sir. You must not. The two said you're to rest."

"Just let me go!" Tien shouted, frustrated at being restrained.

Shaking off the group, the monk half ran over the bridge and into the town. Though he did not recuperate completely, Tien struggled to participate in the battle. He wanted to put up a fight to anyone, be it a sohee, a zombie, or maybe even Moonlight Flower herself. He wanted to prove that he was no man to be trifled with, despite his depleted energy.

Tien wanted to evolve back into that critical state just prior the devastating Asura Strike. Try as he might, an unnerving pain wrecked his body in the transition. He could not risk further wreckage on his body, but he felt powerless in such a condition like this, weak and exhausted. Maybe I should listen and rest… he thought.

Something inside him objected strongly, telling him to bring out whatever that was in him to put up a fight. Even though he needed more effort to deal with a demon, he must fight. Beads of sweat dripped past his scarred cheek, his face glittering in a layer of it. Though his fists gave no hint of any power, he trudged on to seek out demons. The more, the better.

However, as far as he had observed, most of the demonic army was already killed. What was left were quickly taken down by the Elite Hunter force. Clenching his fist tightly, Tien grunted in disappointment.

_Die, monk._

Tien's head suddenly spun, a wave of vertigo sweeping over him. He turned three hundred and sixty degrees, trying to detect the source of the inhuman voice. But the Payon warriors were the only thing he saw.

_Look no further, monk. Doom has come._

He endeavoured to listen intently this time as he overcame the brief blurring of his mind. Apparently, his vision was similarly affected, and his senses numbed gradually. Everywhere became a swirl of things that did not make sense. Throughout the short speech, he thought he detected a feminine tone to it. Then, a shrill voice rang in his ears, forcing him to cup it with his hands.

"Whoever you are, fight me! Stop your antics and we'll get it on!"

What came in reply seemed to be an even more shrill laughter that tormented him mentally.

_As you wish, monk._

Then, as if concluding her mental torture and her speech, the numbness in his body left him. But weakness continued to plague him, along with fatigue. He seriously needed a good rest, otherwise he suspected that he might just pass out for long.

When the Payon defenders thought that this was over for the time being, another wave of demons moaned and screamed as they spilled out of the cave. A new army of sohees and zombies, including other undead, charged forward with whatever weapon they had extended, ready for a massive bloodshed. The warriors cried out in utter surprise as they were overwhelmed, and swept away. The beleaguered Elite Hunter force could no longer put up further resistance for the equally large force of demons as the recent ones. But among the din though, some managed to make out a rather faint noise of a bell jingling in the distance…


	44. Sleepy talk

-44-

The inn was probably one of the few structures in Prontera that was not damaged. This might explain the fact that the customers in it were still making merry and drinking away with carefree, while they could. And it was rather ironic that people were fighting among themselves, like one between the drunk rogue and the bard, instead of preparing themselves mentally for the upcoming showdown with the orcs.

The noise from the bedlam faded away as Cerberus departed long ago. The knight took his time during his walk to the barracks, while he looked around him wistfully. The rather empty streets seemed to him that this might just be a preamble to the result of the struggle against the orcs. But so what if they could resist them, or defeat them? By doing so they were killing the small fish, and not the big one. It was the four that had to be destroyed.

Being submerged into his thoughts, he did not realize that he had entered the Prontera square, where the statue of Odin rested on a large fountain. A handful of civilians were still staying around the area, holding chatting sessions that mainly regarded the four and the orcs. Cerberus looked around again. Constructors were still working half-heartedly on the repair of the gates even though it was about an hour before midnight. Orders had been issued that the gates must be reinforced before the break of dawn, otherwise those green-skinned beasts would be behoved.

Yes, he had been hailed as the hero of the south gate. But the knight thought otherwise. Surely, the people did not know the definition of a hero. What kind of a hero was he to relieve those defending the south gate, yet he did not prevent the other losses incurred? And, if he was a hero, nobody would have died fighting off the orcs at the west gate. Then, the city would not be brooding over the dilemma of a shortage in their military. Then again, he could have saved his childhood friend, Kera, from his brother's clutches. He felt that he was just a… nobody.

Cerberus avoided those loitering about the fountain. He did not want to be seen, so as not to hear the word "hero" in their speeches. Taking brisk steps now, he headed in the direction of the barracks, where he was requested to attend a brief meeting with the two warlords. Along the way, all was silent. Not that Cerberus sensed something imminent, but he suddenly felt an emptiness, or loneliness, to be exact. Weeks ago he had happily been in the company of his guild mates. It was as if he would never understand what solitaire was. Yet, now he did. He had a sudden urge to find out what they were doing, or whether they were moving on fine. Whenever he thought of Skull though, he was forced to raise his doubts. After all, the king would not let the high officials keep a lax security.

When the knight walked past the guards at the barrack entrance, they kept a grim look and greeted him with less enthusiasm than usual. Cerberus did not blame them, however, since they too dreaded the impending invasion in which they would likely lose if the orcs persisted, instead of doing a hit-and-run.

The barracks, low buildings made out of stone, lurked at the corner of Prontera. But the barrack belonging to the two warlords and their Fiendbane Enforcers were significantly spacious than those of the other departments and it was elaborately decorated with flags and emblems.

"Ahh, there you are, knight," Smith said when Cerberus emerged from the top of the stairs.

The knight nodded and walked to a large wooden table in the mass hall. A few maps of different sizes and scales were unrolled over it, a couple of it totally covered in circles, crosses and other markings drawn by a very sleepy Larzen. Two tall mugs of ale stood near the maps. The large barrack was empty except for the two warlords and Cerberus. It seemed that Cerberus and Smith were the only ones fully awake. Larzen was slumped over the chair, snoring blissfully with the marker still gripped in his hands.

"Durned fool, get your ass up and shining!" Smith called out as he slapped a hand hard down Larzen's midriff.

"Oww! What? What?" the other warlord awoke with a start.

"You dead log! What have you done to the map!?" Smith snapped in irritation. "For Odin's sake you're a warlord! Not some wannabe artist!"

"Oh that… Damn I must be sleep-drawing. Sorry," Larzen spoke sheepishly.

"Yo, Cerberus, come here," Smith ushered the knight to a seat, ignoring Larzen's trash-talk.

Cerberus kept a gloomy expression as he took a seat on a pulled out chair. Although he had only been in here no more than once, he had to admit that the barrack was filled with loads of banners, flags and badges of different colours and sizes that marked things like the city of Prontera itself, and the symbol of the military.

"Where's your men?" Cerberus asked as he scanned the hall.

"Ahh, my boys are still busy with the works at the west. They won't be returning soon, knight. Meanwhile we'll deal with some difficulties we have 'ere."

Cerberus watched as the dwarf-like warlord shuffling the maps, finally placing a fresh one on top. Then, he began marking out spots near the west gate, some on the south.

"First and foremost," the warlord began. "We can't do shits without a good number to settle our shortage. What say you?"

"We've all heard of Payon's distress, and we cannot afford to offer them any help right now, in return they too cannot afford to help us. Every other city must unite with us in this final struggle, even though they have their own difficulties and their pride. They may not look upon the idea of an alliance the same way we do."

"But they had better understand the gravity of the circumstance! Who gives a hoot about their pride and difficulties!? When the four's done with, they can clean their own asses for all we care!"

"Yeah they better learn," Larzen added as he took a seat beside Cerberus, finally shaking off the fuddle in his brain.

"Ahh shut it, Zen, unless you have better ideas up rather than parroting what I say!" Smith retorted.

"Ok, I'll mark out these maps then."

"No! Enough artwork, Zen! You should be overseeing the boys and not idling!"

Cerberus shifted about in his chair as he looked casually at the maps.

"Say, Smith, since Izlude would be reluctant merge forces, what do you think of Morroc? Those assassins and rogues might be handy."

"Its not a bad idea, but I'm thinking Alberta."

"We could arrange for the two to merge instead of choosing one," Cerberus suggested.

"Nah, the Alberta smithies have got no likes for the desert ruffians, they term. I've got no idea what their problem is, saying that they are nothing but a bunch of barbaric punks," Smith brought up. "What's more those smithies might be helping out their neighbour Payon."

"Bah! To think that at such a time they failed to bury these petty quarrels."

Smith made a "calm down" motion with his hands.

"Chill, knight, we got other options –"

"No we don't, Smith," Cerberus interrupted. "These are the few and only options we have. By the time we contacted the cities far beyond those of our neighbouring cities, we would all be dead!"

"Not necessary. Not necessary," Larzen suddenly spoke up.

"What do you mean?" Smith asked without irritation for the first time of the night.

"Now that the orcs have failed rampaging St Caprina, they won't be wasting their time on that settlement. If my guess is right, they should all be coming down on us in full throttle. Now this is gonna permit the monks to aid us. What's more they're just within a couple of miles from us!" Larzen explained.

Smith nodded slowly to absorb it, then grinned.

"Very well. At least, you're useful for once."

"After all I've said this is the only "compliment"?"

Larzen snorted, and stood up to leave.

"Where ya headed?"

"Like you said, those boys need supervision."

Just as the big man crossed over to the staircase, a group of men clad in ninja suits clambered up before he managed to head down.

"Yo! I was about to look for y'all!" Larzen exclaimed. "I thought y'all not supposed to get off until after midnight?"

The Fiendbanes trudged past the warlord without answering him, and reached for their rooms. A haggard expression was worn on their faces, some looked like they were starved for more than three days. It looked as if they were a zombified version of the Fiendbanes. Smith looked up from the map and glanced over them in shock.

"Yo, what's going on? The works?"

"Nah, just tired, tired and tired," one of those at the front replied hoarsely. As if to add some effect to his statement, he reached his hands to his shoulders and started massaging himself. A couple of them even exaggerated by collapsing onto the floor, moaning away like a zombie prisoner in Glast Heim.

"We've been going at it non-stop since this morning, boss. Any further we would be dismantled!" another remarked monotonously.

Smith shook his head and slapped his palm on the table.

"Tired! I see! I'll be damned if the people were to think that I rose a group of soulless dead for some embroidery and pastry making club!"

"No, I mean, this monstrous labour is killing us!" the first person who spoke earlier made a rejoinder.

Larzen walked over to the table.

"Yo, Smith, just let them break a little. They're overworked!"

"Who knows that's an act? Ahh forget it, I'm busy now! Just go handle those boys yourself!" Smith said as he waved a hand to drive him off. He thought he saw a glint in the Fiendbanes' eyes when he finished his piece.

"Excuse me, but what are those that you're constructing?" Cerberus asked when there was a brief silence. "Quite a number of residents are intrigued as to those hammering and clanking under your workshop."

"Bah! They'll know in due time, but I don't mind telling ya," Smith said.

Larzen waved the Fiendbanes off to their respective rooms, and took a seat beside Cerberus again.

"Right. We're getting up many pipes up the walls. Best by the break of dawn, to make up for the shortage of our forces."

"We've designed a system of pipes and hose that ends all the way up the walls. When the orcs come, we'll load up with whatever we can find, be it acids or flammable liquid, and get it all on 'em!" Smith explained further when he noticed the nonplussed look.

"Maybe Piffy could help on that," Cerberus suggested.

Larzen took out the blueprint of the system, and unrolled it over the Prontera maps proudly.

"Don't give that look like you've done all these alone! I contributed half of that!" Smith reminded his warlord counterpart.

Cerberus skimmed through the blueprint without interest. He sighed as wherever he went, nobody seemed to be taking this battle seriously. They either did not appear worried, or they were making merry in the inn. Even in the barracks, where they were not supposed to be taking this lightly at all. Contrary to that, the Fiendbanes were complaining of their exhaustion and not completing their task before dawn.

"We've got much to do this night. Come on, Larzen, we gotta be heading down the other departments! Larzen?" Smith called out. When no reply came, the stocky warlord saw Larzen's eyelids slammed shut, while soft snores could be heard. Cerberus thought Smith was almost tempted to break the chair apart with his hammer.


	45. The harrow

-45-

"Be gone!"

A bright cone of light flared into life, striking the few orcs back several feet. Several more tagging behind received the same treatment, that same cone of light blasting them backwards. Manald stood protectively over her two companions, raising her hand for another spell. But the orcs were not at all intimidated.

The green-skinned beasts pulled themselves back to their feet –and a peculiar looking blade slashed across their shins from underground. A red-haired rogue emerged, jabbing her zeny knife artfully on the precise acupoints that would immobilize the orcs. They tried grabbing the dodgy rogue, but Maraulea's was fast enough. That made the orcs fluster inconsiderably.

Expecting that the orcs would abandon Maraulea's attacks, Manald enchanted a small unit of pavement with some sort of green energy, just enough to encompass the three of them. When the orcs stepped within the enchanted area, they would be wrecked with an anonymous pain, before collapsing.

"Hurry!" Manald called out to her rogue friend. "The sanctuary spell won't last any longer!"

The undergrowth rustled madly as Maraulea slit the single orc she was handling at the kneecap, and leaped over the orcs to enter the enchanted ground which could emanate little, but sufficient healing waves. When Sagi felt more inclined to stand up despite his thigh injury caused by a spear thrown by an orc earlier, he dragged the assassin back to the direction of the camp while the other two dealt with the remaining orcs. Though he had doubts about their abilities to completely ward them off, he had no other alternatives this time. He had to trust them now.

"Are you well enough to quicken our pace?" Sagi asked as he limped quickly.

Skull grunted his reply, and the two increased their pace slightly. Sagi had to use his staff often for support after he realized that he could not bear with the pain for long. As he half-ran, blood flowed freely, the pain increasing just as they quickened their pace. Finally, he let go of Skull and fell onto a pile of dead leaves, pressing his hand against the wound.

"Get back to the camp! Don't bother about me," Sagi shouted.

He did not have to make that statement. Apparently, Skull continued wadding his way through the woods in a manner as if he had downed a dozen bottles of Morroc alcohol. Whether was it because of his injury, or was it because of the withdrawal effect of his bloodlust, the assassin's movements were clumsy. Sagi felt around him for the staff, and found it lying somewhere near his left. Taking it in his hands again, he tried pulling himself back to his feet, but it was unsuccessful. An acute pain shot up his thigh, soon the entire leg felt numbed.

He knew further down the woods behind him, the priestess and the rogue were still trying their best to buy them time for an unscathed escape. He must get back up and return to the camp. If he failed such a task, then the two's efforts would be for naught. Looking around him, he reached up for the lowest foliage, and pulled himself up with more effort than ever. His grunts became gasps by the time he was standing up, the Staff of Soul clutched tightly in his right hand supported most of his weight.

Sagi leaned against a trunk. Yards and yards from him Manald and Maraulea incapacitated the last of the orcs, and did not bother to hesitate. Orcish horns rang madly every single moment, and heavy footfalls came for them. This time, they were sure that the numbers were definitely not the same minute amount as the ones they just rid of.

"Come on, go!" Maraulea whispered loud enough to be heard.

Manald followed after the rogue who was already ducking and darting through the woods that was growing thicker as they proceeded deeper.

"The orcs are still giving chase! They won't give up!" Manald remarked when she heard distant footfalls even though they had ran quite a distance into the woods.

"They ain't got the brains! Just follow me!" the confident rogue turned her head back as she spoke.

Thinking that her friend has devised a ploy, Manald approved of it silently as she kept a close distance behind. Halfway along the main trail, Maraulea suddenly veered off to a sharp turn to her left, and soon they entered a rather muddy part of the woods with tall undergrowths that reached their hips. The two had to cross over fallen branches and they gradually became slower for walking proved difficult in the boggy ground. Occassionally their footgear became partially submerged in it.

Not only did the region become wet when they went further, there were more shady trees and taller grasses. Thick foliages hung down from lower portion of the trunks, causing them to lower their head.

"Where is this place!?" the priestess exclaimed in revulse.

"Keep it down, Man, they're still hot on our heels," the rogue said softly.

True, the orcs did not give up just yet. Seeing numerous comrades die, those orcs could not bring themselves to let the intruders off. It was like they had lost a brother. Moreover, those green-skinned hulks assumed that the intruders had somehow got hold of information regarding their next assault arranged by their new lord, the Lord of Death. All the more they had to pursue, unless until it was truly impossible to do so.

Those heavy footfalls softened when the two waded through the swampy ground. But harsh, rough voices reminded them that stopping was not an option just yet, even if their garments were dirtied. Maraulea looked around desperately while Manald passed her a questioning look.

"Wait, hold on, relax, calm –"

"Surely this is not the way back to camp! They're coming closer, and you had better be thinking of something good!" Manald cut in.

"We can't be drawing them back to camp right? They'll just dine on the injured two if we did," the rogue said casually. "So what ingenious ideas have you thought of?"

Manald gave her a ridiculed look.

"So you led me here, got our clothes caked with mud, get caught by orcs, and this is it!?"

Maraulea rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"Hmm. Probably… probably."

The priestess sighed deeply in defeat. Perhaps she should have ran back to camp after all. At least she could give them a quick relieve of Sagi or Skull's injuries, while their defence looked more promising. Now, there was a fifty-fifty chance that she was either slain, or kept alive. The more she thought about the latter, the more the pessimistic side of her took control.

"Think you're sneaky enough?" Maraulea asked without the slightest hint of panic.

"What?"

The priestess looked as if she was about to break down when the footfalls could be heard clearly. It was obvious that the orcs were just yards away. If the rogue was to contemplate any further, there could already forget about their evasion.

"I thought I might put my graffiti skills to use. Hmm… now that I thought of it the last I used it was last winter! The snow was so much easier to –argh!"

Manald pulled her blabbering friend into the nearest shrub, while their ankles were sinking below the soft mud. They had to extricate their legs every now and then in disgust, but they had to do it quietly. A foliage from a young tree not far from them started shaking violently. She knew that the orcs would appear any moment now…

"Look, Man," Maraulea said, pointing through a small gap in the shrub.

At first Manald thought she was referring to an oncoming orc who had already made his arrival. But a "tsk" by the rogue hinted that she was pointing to something else. Following the direction of her finger closely, the priestess thought she saw alphabets engraved into the earth. She then craned her head to an appropriate angle to read the message properly.

"Orc ladies found naked by the swamp… hurry before they leave…" she mumbled to herself. Beside her, Maraulea could not control herself but giggle incessantly.

Before Manald could comment on that though, the orcs barged into the area with axes ready. The priestess clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from gasping. Through the gap, she counted at least two dozen of the hulking greens. How in the holy heavens were they going get away from them, let alone facing them.

Whispering a brief prayer to God, she hoped whatever the rogue planned, the orcs had better not foil it. It was unlikely that the other two companions would save the day. Right now, she was forced under circumstance to trust her rogue friend, whether her plan was sound or not.

"Eh? Orc ladies…" one orc spoke out as he licked his lips.

"N… naked!" another exclaimed in over-excitement.

"Chief, we go see! We go now!"

Most of the orcs were already grinning lustily, or with eyes gleaming in anticipation, except for the chief who still kept a dour look. Knowing well that the orcs would not control themselves, he did not bother calling them back. All except the chief ran in the direction of the swamp, shouting crudely with subtle enthusiasm.

"They fell for it! Now's our chance!" Maraulea nudged the priestess.

Snapping out of her trance, Manald stood up and caught the attention of the brawny chief. He wanted to cry out in surprise, yet no voice came out. The priestess had silenced him with her Lex Divina spell. Taking over the situation, Maraulea jerked both feet out of the soft mud and leaped over the shrub. The zeny knife already out in her hands, she dodged a swipe from the orc and drew a slit on his unprotected knee cap. The larger orc fell onto one knee, but the rogue did not give up just yet. She gave a knee strike across his face for a good measure, knocking him out cold.

"What are you doing?" Manald dared raising her voice level a little higher.

Maraulea was down on her knees, stripping off every piece of armour off the orc impressively fast. Rogues were taught to strip an opponent's armour and weapon during certain period as one. It came as no surprise as such skills were easily mastered and it was rather popular among rogues. Bending down to inspect the chief, she even took other items like his sword and a horn. She put on the bulky armour and the helm, even though it was all oversized. But at least, she looked almost as stout as the chief. Then, standing there pensively, she sounded a prolonged high note on the horn.

"You're going to draw them back here! You ruined the chance to head back!" the priestess cried anxiously.

"Of course, we should."

Further down the swamp they could hear the orcs lumbering back. Maraulea put away her zeny knife and motioned for the priestess to come out. However, she saw nobody hiding behind the tall shrubs. The priestess had long ran away to the camp. Erasing the message engraved on the ground, she planted a new one and wisely kept out of the orcs' sight as she figured the route back to her camp.

By the time the orcs reached the small area they last stopped, there was no sign of their chief. But the message on the muddy ground that read "For now, naked chief!" gave them the hint.

-

-

-

There was no sign of the sun. The sky darkened into an azure shade with dark clouds, but a faint magical sphere of flame radiated sufficient light in a small camp. The creator of it lay weakly on the ground sparsely filled with grass, his eyes half shut. A long, silver staff was placed within an arm's reach, the crystal orb atop it glowing mildly. The black robe he wore was crumpled with several hems torn. It was stained with grime from a recent encounter with orcs.

The torn part of the robe revealed a severely injured thigh. Earlier, during the escape, an orc had managed to score a deep gash on his thigh with his javelin. Clearly a wizard, the man wore an accessory on his neck that looked peculiar. It was designed like two rings, one black and the other white, interlocking each other with a thin metal chain stringing it. His complexion was pale from the injury, yet nobody, let alone a priest, had come across him to offer a cure for it. Too much blood had been lost, even the blades of grasses were painted a deep crimson. Occassionally, he moaned incoherently.

Not too far away from him, an assassin suffered few, but much fatal wounds. The silver hair was now stained with blotches of blood, his face was equally dirtied. His lanky form seemed to enhance the severity of his condition, along with his naturally pale complexion. In his hands clutched a pair of katars which was known as the Infiltrator, the blade of it too brown from dried blood. But it was hard to differentiate if it was from the orcs, or from his own. Unlike the wizard who occasionally moaned and moved slightly, he laid perfectly still like death. No sound came from him, his breaths coming out very lightly. Beside him was an orc javelin that had stabbed through his upper back, but removed forcefully earlier. After the extraction, he could not take the pain and collapsed.

When conscious was restored in him, Skull felt something stroking his hair. Opening a slit of his eyes, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. A lady so familiar to him knelt beside him, stroking his soft silver hair just like how a mother would do to her offspring. She had the same coloured hair as he, but it was tied up in a ponytail. Though she had grey eyes like he did, they portrayed care and love unlike his. She was clothed in the priestess dress he always saw her wear as long as she had lived.

"Sister? You've finally come…" Skull mumbled, but loud enough to be heard.

His sister gave no reply, but merely nodding with a reassuring smile. The assassin very much wanted to get up and give her a hug, but for some reason he felt restrained by some sort of invisible bindings. He could not even wriggle his fingers. He could only speak, which he felt did not suffice.

"Are you staying with me for good now…?"

Once again, his sister did not speak. Instead, she gave him a look of sorrow, and a single tear slid down her cheek. Very reluctantly, she shook her head. By the time, her eyes were already red. Stroking his hair for one last time, Skull's sister kissed him lightly on the cheek, and literally vanished. The surroundings and the kiss felt very surreal…

When he felt he could move, he sat up with surprising ease. Skull inspected his body. The injuries and the pain were all gone. In fact, he felt invigorated, as if he had consumed a hundred Yggdrasil berries.

His surroundings began to focus. It was the same, at least not as foggy as before when his sister was around. For a moment, he thought he might still be lingering about in his dream, for a priestess knelt beside him. Except that her priestess dress was caked with mud, and she was filled with grime all over. Unlike the dream, she was not stroking his hair.

"Huh? Priestess?"

The girl sitting beside him, Manald, leaned over him.

"Are you feeling well?"

Skull nodded. Perhaps for the first time, he felt inclined to appreciate the fact that she had once again tire herself out for the sake of healing him of his ailments.

"Uhh…"

"Yes? Can I be of help?"

"Thanks," he said, though it sounded more as if he was mumbling to himself.

Although she did not hear it exactly, Manald could make the words out. Her expression was surprised at first, then it softened into a wide smile. However, she had no time to feel happy about it.

The environment suddenly dimmed. They saw Sagi standing before them, the Staff of Soul gripped in his hands. Then they realized that he had extinguished the magical flame.

"We have to leave. The orcs are already carrying out a search," the wizard announced dourly. "The nearest party is no more than approximately ten yards away."

Manald's smile disappeared, then her look became resolved.

"If that's the case, we should not be delaying any longer. How did you find out?"

"I went scouting. When I came back, I didn't feel safe. And indeed, the orcs were looking for us!" Maraulea said as she came out of nowhere. Nobody knew why, but she was still dressed in the armour the orc chief wore.

Sagi passed a swift glance at Skull.

"I believe you are fit enough to travel. Then again, you had better not be anymore one-man shows, assassin. We have enough trouble and your safety definitely does not rank the first of priorities."

Skull snorted at what the wizard said. Picking himself back to his feet, he left after the rogue who looked like she had put on tons weight overnight.

-

-

-

A gleaming knight walked past the half empty camp. Most orc sentries and warriors were dispatched to hunt for the group of intruders by the new lord himself, yet no news was heard till now. He was growing impatient by the moment…

The orcs who sighted him quickly dipped their head low as they knelt. They dared not move a finger, for the look on the lord's face was no less grim. The Lord of Death was not interested in the business of the camp, however, when he headed past the camp to where the orc blacksmiths were.

After the gruelling duel with Doppelganger, he had lost his shield and sword when he sacrificed it to perform a devastating skill that almost wiped out the prominent feature of the orc lands, Orc Dungeon. Death had had his doubts on Doppelganger's survival, and so he did not feel a lost. The destruction of his trusted equipments for the life of Doppelganger… was well worth the price.

'So, you've found out about yourself. Pity… pity,' Death thought bitterly. He had marvelled slightly at the swordsman's persistence and schemes. Even he was dying, Doppelganger chose to plunge into the deep crater rather than submitting his Trait to the avaricious Lord of Death. During the post-battle period, the orcs were too stunned to probe. Or rather, they did not dare to. The explosion underdeath the dungeon sent tremors over the camp, and the orcs knew that a harsh battle had gone underway between both superiors.

They were torn in between their emotions. A part of them wanted the Lord of Death to triumph, out of forced respect and fear. While the other part of them demanded a defeat of their new lord, for his lordship was too harsh. New training schedules were added, more strenuous activities were introduced. Most of all, the lord wanted outstanding performances, and the imperfect or the lazy ones would perish for good. Moreover, he was responsible for the Orc Lord's death, whom they had grown to cherish and believe in him.

Death put on a snarl as he approached an elder orc blacksmith who was melting more oridecon to boost a humongous lance's durability. When the imposing lord neared, he suddenly dropped a handful of oridecons as his chin quivered.

"Voulje!"

"Y… Y… Yes what c… can I do?"

"I want my lance done by dawn, vermin. I trust you know very well how your story will end."

"Y… Yes, lord of orcs," the elder blacksmith named Voulje stuttered.

Death was amused at the violent shiver the elder orc was experiencing, looking as if his skin was going to become droopy if he shivered any further. Then, drawing out a scimitar, he scrutinized it before handing it to the blacksmith who was sweating from the fire of the work pit.

"With this, the strength of this lance," Death sneered as he stepped over to look closely at how it was proceeding. "There is no doubt that this lance would be developed immeasurably."

At first the blacksmith looked puzzled as he examined the scimitar. Though it was a normal-looking one, he was positive that he felt tremendous power dwelling within the bloody blade. As he recalled the battle, a look of realization came across his bestial countenance.

"Lance be done by dawn, I assure, lord of orc!" he said as he knelt respectfully. After the lord left the small area assigned to orc smiths, Voulje handled the scimitar with more caution than ever. He set the curved blade over a fire, and resumed his work on the lance as he waited for the scimitar to melt…

The powerful frame of Death intimidated many. Muscles rippled out and veins were hardened to enhance his biceps. His fearsome visage was hidden by a silver helm, but those fiery red orbs gleamed through the slits. The silver knight was a symbol of raw power. As he made his way out, his pensive look even caused several orcs to falter in their steps.

"The wizard again… Sagizeulus yet again…" he whispered the name with animosity.


	46. Down to two

-46-

A horde of animated souls rushed through the dark corridors, but there was no sign of their quarry. There were one of every demon found in Glast Heim. There were Evil Druids, Whispers, Zombies, Nightmares and the most abominable, major threat was the subordinate of Dark Lord, the Dark Illusion.

The first level of the castle was free of demons. That made it all the easier and faster for Abyss's group to wind their way into the second level where Baphomet and his minions awaited. Abyss chose not to follow them, for he had to stay out of Baphomet's sight to allow success of his plans. Of course, he had to remain out of Dark Lord's reach at the same time.

As he stood waiting patiently just inside the entrance of the great, accursed castle, he focused his mind to detect the whereabouts of his counterpart, Storm. That was the other purpose that led him to the castle; to confirm his speculations. He would not have wasted his efforts to do so, since he could easily assign one demon of his temporary army to hunt for Storm. But, none of the animated horde must waste any time, not even the task of looking for Storm. Their one and only job now was to seek out the great goat superior, and launch an assault.

The animated horde moved through the dark passageways. When a sharp turn led them to a sudden dead end with a hole large enough for one normal-built man to crawl through, they stopped. Although their sizes may not permit entry, but they made use of the fact that they were souls to enter it. They wended into the hole, and they started plummeting downwards. It was not that steep, but as they went down the speed picked up.

Out of an opening they were disgorged, and they realized that they were sent to the second level of the castle. Contrary to the first, the place was now illuminated dimly. Small torches with the flame slightly bigger than one of a candle provided insufficient light from the cracked walls. Certain places of it were charred, while the floors were cracked and uneven. There was a scent of a battle…

This might give someone a hint that an inferno had happened here not too long ago. Nevertheless, the animated horde made their way deeper in, and a distant noise could be heard. Though already quiet, they proceeded slowly towards the source. The area became damp as they went, with many sets of stone stairs around them. Unsure of which to ascend, they took a step in the dark.

They went up the nearest stone stairs they saw. The flight was short, and it led them onto a platform that was not exactly too high, but enabled them an overview over certain areas. But those areas were those that they trespassed before. Then, they caught sight of the longest flight of broken stairs leading deep downwards. So deep that they could not see where it ended.

The horde went up a ledge attached to the platform, and leaped off it, hoping to each the lower portion of the stairs from the gap in it. The Dark Illusion was at the forefront, leading the rest down the stairs so narrow that they were forced to go in a single file.

The right-hand man of Dark Lord, now a servant of Abyss, ushered the rest of the undead demons after him. And down they went, deep into the dark depths of it.

-

-

-

The interrogations this time could not have been any luckier for Storm. For the past few times, he always ended up in a beaten, distraught mess. Baphomet waved his guardians aside and held the blue knight's head up by the jaws.

"You are not capable of such. Tell me, knight, who laid this out? Who!?"

Baphomet had no desire to hide his ire now. Pointing to the guardians, he made a motion. The Baphomet Juniors recognized the signal. Those miniature Baphomets brandished their tiny yet deceptive scythes, and plunged it through the back of the blue knight.

A howl rang through the dark lair he was locked in as the scythes met his hide. Yanking their weapons free, the Baphomet Juniors retreated back to where the other guardians stood watching in trepidation. At least half a dozen new wounds were created, driving Storm into a series of frenzied screams. Baphomet grabbed the knight by his mane, then the shouts were reduced to groans.

"Your death is not too far away. I don't have patience for a fourth round, knight. If I have to, I will end your misery unless you speak," the goatlike superior rasped.

"Then… then end it now!" Storm said with effort.

"Not just yet, knight. Not yet."

Baphomet motioned to the guardians. A few wraiths floated forward to where the knight lay, and began chewing and biting away at his hide. Storm roared in agony, the inhuman torture almost sending him into a delirium.

"Damn you! Damn you, Baphomet!"

Storm did not know his limits anymore. Now, it did not matter if the goat superior was agitated during the interrogations or not. He wished he was sleeping in the unconsciousness, rather than being sober. When he was out cold, at least he did not have to feel the pain wrecking his body, or being at the mercy of Baphomet.

When it seemed like Baphomet was about to knock him back into oblivion once more, a wave of power could be sensed. It was not too tremendous, but it was still remarkable. Baphomet stopped mid-way in his attack. Taking his massive scythe, he motioned for the guardians to provide him with support. The guardians, abandoning the blue knight for the moment, did as told. The wraiths, Baphomet Juniors and zombies flanked the humongous goat superior, awaiting the interlopers who were coming on them at high speed. What baffled Baphomet though, was the fact that his senses detected an enigmatic, formidable being leading a group of his own.

"You sorry insects…" Baphomet cursed under his breath, irritated at being interrupted during his punishment he was exacting on Storm. "To think this damned imbecile had the wits to tread my grounds, let alone discovering this lair!"

Baphomet was deep in thought for a while. There had never been any intruders to this lair as long as he had ruled the castle. If those outside were a party of adventurers, it was unlikely that they managed to come so far unscathed. In the history of Glast Heim, no humans had succeeded in surviving the first level, let alone the second. Moreover, humans certainly did not have such immense power pervading…

The reason could only be…

"Damn it!" Baphomet bellowed. He left the guardians to defend for themselves, and grabbed Storm by the throat. "So there was an accomplice indeed! I could only say, your saviour had chose to run into nothing but doom. When I'm done with him, your turn comes next, knight!"

There was a brief silence, then suddenly a blast of flame caught the guardians unprepared. The zombies who were lined at the forefront were unfortunately incinerated into ash, while the wraiths nearby were burned. There was a loud whistle, before a roar sounded. The encroachers shocked Baphomet himself. A band of insubstantial undead led by a Dark Illusion emerged into the lair, striking the first few guardians that were most immediate to them.

"Impossible…" Baphomet murmured.

The Dark Illusion was the explanation to the goat superior's doubts. The purplish skeletal mage pummelled a handful of Baphomet Juniors high up by jutting up a plot of earth, sending those tiny figures slamming against what appeared to be the ceiling, before plummeting many feet to their death. Zombie prisoners under the Dark Illusion swung their flails against their adversaries, cracking a skull or two with the crushing blow. Nightmares rammed squarely into Baphomet's zombies, trampling on the tiny Juniors at the same time. Many guardians fell at the onslaught.

"How dare he betray me…" Baphomet mumbled again. "So you had desires to own the full Intelligence, Dark Lord!"

When the last of the guardians fell, Baphomet picked up his scythe, but he did not use it just yet. The goat superior could not be wrong; the Dark Lord was behind this attack to seek the other half of the Trait, and there was nothing associated with Storm's escape. Firstly, Storm could never escape Glast Heim as long as he lived, for he was cursed to be bound within the confines of the castle. And in the second place, the presence of Dark Illusion confirmed the mastermind. Only Dark Lord himself could summon his very own Dark Illusions; that made no one responsible for this except for him.

"You'll regret your decision, Dark Lord!" Baphomet roared.

Waving his palm to encompass the animated horde, Baphomet summoned jets of fire soaring up from the fissures that were forming. The intruders began to falter, some even died. Except for the Dark Illusion, who floated calmly without trepidation. Baphomet's opponent went through the fire storm effortlessly, and the two giants confronted each other.

"You want a piece of me, huh," Baphomet taunted.

Dark Illusion wasted no time. Muttering in a demonic tongue, a blast of wind knocked Baphomet back, but the superior resistance nullified the attack almost completely. Roaring in rage, Baphomet raised a wall of fire to bar disturbance from the other minions. He needed to concentrate in this duel with Dark Illusion.

"Don't be distracted," Dark Illusion's cold and lifeless voice echoed. Following that, a stream of fire caught Baphomet in the face.

The goat superior roared again as he stumbled backwards, his hands covering his recently burned face. Taking opportunity of Baphomet's defenceless form, Dark Illusion quickly sent several strong blasts of wind in rapid succession. Baphomet, who was not paying attention, was swept off his hooves and crashed into a mossy wall. The blow caused a dent and streaks of cracks along it, while a torch near it distinguished.

The lair was made even dimmer. Storm could not, and did not assimilate what was happening. He was glad that he would not have to undergo another torture upon the disturbance by the Dark Illusion. But he knew that their purpose here was not to save him. As far as he had heard, they had planned to steal Baphomet's Trait or something.

Baphomet fell, and lay unmoving on the ground. Although the Dark Illusion felt a sense of satisfaction, his expression remained one of someone without a soul. He floated to the goat superior –and the end of a scythe impaled through his cape, then right through his thigh. Dark Illusion howled in agony, but it was too late to realize that Baphomet had feigned unconsciousness.

"Fool, do you think you can take down the great one just by a snap of a finger?" Baphomet rasped with a toothy grin.

Extracting the massive scythe from the disabled right leg of Dark Illusion, he lifted a hoof to kick the skeletal mage squarely in the chest. But it was not enough. The goat superior went to pick Dark Illusion up to a standing position, and followed up with a powerful bash that sent the bony mage flying back to the far end of the lair. A thunderous crash indicated another damaging of a portion of the wall.

Baphomet put out the fiery wall. The other minions advanced, only to be reduced to ash when the superior raised thick jets of flame from the fissures. With the disturbance now cleared, he could focus entirely on the Dark Illusion. Grasping his scythe in anticipation, Baphomet walked over to where Dark Illusion struggled to stand up.

"Behold, knight! Your fate will be no different from this!" Baphomet shouted to Storm, who was writhing over the ground, rattling the chains.

Baphomet made a circling motion with his hand. Then, an ethereal binding wrapped itself around Dark Illusion's form tightly, restraining movement from the skeletal mage. Not even casting of spells, apparently, Baphomet had silenced him with a spell. Roaring in triumph, the superior raised the scythe with two hands overhead, preparing to slam the massive war-blade down to disintegrate the Dark Illusion.

"Halt, Baphomet!" a voice akin to the Dark Illusion rang out clear. "You have been fooled. This is purely a misunderstanding."

The grand, undisputed lord himself, Dark Lord, came down into the lair. He past a scornful glance at Storm, then at Baphomet.

"This Dark Illusion you battle, is nothing more than a puppet."

"There is no room for further pretence, mage!" Baphomet howled furiously. "You are the sole superior capable of raising such insects! If you desire my half, then fight for it."

And so it came, the two greatest superiors of all stared off each other without any likes of each other. Storm stared at them with his only good eye, for the other was horribly injured. Though he hardly understood all these that were happening too quickly, he knew the two were growing hostile towards each other. And most likely an epic battle between these two significant figures was going to ensue. It did not matter to him who would emerge victorious. Either way, he was going to die.

"I am unlike those foolish ones who hope to amplify their powers through Trait stealing. I exercise and boost my own abilities; this half of the Intelligence Trait does not matter!" Dark Lord tried his best to explain to the obstinate Baphomet.

"Lies! A pack of lies, Dark Lord. These creatures originated from your graveyard and it is clear that they act under your command! Enough talk, Dark Lord, for it is time for your destruction," Baphomet replied with hatred.

"You are being the fool here, Baphomet," Dark Lord attempted a reverse psychology to stop Baphomet's advance. "Haven't you heard of the manifesting of the Four? This knight here is one of them, and my purpose here only serves to hunt the Abyss Knight out."

When the Baphomet gave him time to continue, Dark Lord pointed to the Dark Illusion tied up in the corner.

"If my guess is right the Abyss Knight had slain the Dark Illusion I sent to eliminate him. Somehow, that foul knight had means to raise the dead Illusion to do to his bidding. Apparently, the other demons following this Dark Illusion were revived by similar means in my graveyard."

"A good tale, mage, unfortunately the time spent convincing me could have allowed just enough time for me to slay you. Certainly, I do not mind another additional half to my Intelligence."

Baphomet readied his scythe and thrust it towards the skeletal mage immediately. Dark Lord merely floated off to his side, then smacked the massive pole off.

"I do not have wishes to fight you, Baphomet. However it seems my magic is the only option to tame your insanity."

Enraged by the comment, Baphomet swung his scythe at the lord of the graveyard horizontally. Dark Lord ducked as the pole sailed over his skull, but a hoof somehow scored a hit on his chin. Dark Lord floated backwards. He had no plans to be on the offensive, hoping that the Baphomet would understand the ploy in due time. For now, he would just remain uninjured by dodging those deadly swings.

"Why aren't you fighting, Dark Lord? Where are your magic?" Baphomet mocked as he went at him once more.

Dark Lord grabbed the shaft with perfect agility and hurled it aside.

"Like I said, I have no wishes to fight you. In the meantime I shall leave it to Time to enlighten you."

Baphomet gave another toothy grin to mock at the undead lord. Disregarding his statement, the goat superior extended a fist to bash the lord in between the eyes. It came too quick, and so Dark Lord was forced to put his magic to use for the first time of the night. He created a blast of wind that countered the inertia of the fist.

"Witness this, Baphomet," Dark Lord pointed to where Storm lay.

Baphomet shook his head slowly.

"You are still using the oldest trick in the book, Dark Lord. I –"

"Look!" Dark Lord repeated again in a louder volume out of frustration.

Baphomet took a quick peek to the spot where Storm lay. Strangely enough for him, Dark Lord's speech started to make sense to him. A knight clad in black overalls had worked the thick chains off Storm's wrecked body. Realizing that he had been seen, the ebony knight opened a portal. The black knight dragged the limp Stormy Knight to the portal just as Baphomet made a quick move behind the black knight.

"You, of all, dare oppose the great one!?" Baphomet roared with fervour.

The Abyss Knight gashed the Baphomet's arm with his black sword. Applying more effort on the pull, the two knights were almost into the portal…

Abyss entered the portal first, then Storm's hand went in. Baphomet dove for Storm's leg and tugged with all his might, hoping to overwhelm the strength of both Abyss and the suction of the portal. Then, a stream of fire seared Baphomet's wrist. The goat superior roared again, turning back to see Dark Lord floating over him.

"Traitor! I shall slay you after these two are dealt with!"

Baphomet waved his free hand. Several jets of fire shot into the portal, and he heard faint cries within it. Abyss had been attacked, but the grip only tightened.

"Leave them, Baphomet!"

Dark Lord finally broke apart Baphomet's deathlike grip on Storm's ankle with a stronger stream of fire.

"Before you slay me, at least do me the favour of watching this," Dark Lord indicated towards the portal.

He knew his speech would have no effect on the fuming goat superior, so he hoped that the portal would close sooner as possible. Abyss had dragged the blue knight into the portal, but what astounded the black knight was that the portal failed to close up behind them. This anomaly almost had Baphomet leaping off into the portal, but Dark Lord held him back just in time.

The blue portal sizzled and wavered violently. Lightning flashed across the portal, a thunderous boom sounded occasionally. It looked as if the portal experienced difficulties transporting its intended. The lair started trembling slightly as four pillars of electricity cornered the portal. Baphomet had totally forgotten about his intension of slaying Dark Lord, the superior watching in awe. Dark Lord, too, floated very still as he bore witness to such a phenomenon.

A deafening explosion concluded the madness, but not without rocking the foundation of the castle. The portal had closed, the electricity had vanished and Abyss was gone too. The lair was plunged back to the usual darkness, unlike the bright flare earlier. Speaking a word, Baphomet had a nearby torch lighting up. Though dim, he could still see the results. On the floor lay a blue knight known to them as Knight of Windstorm.

Dark Lord gave Baphomet a glare that looked like it meant "see what I mean". Snorting, the goat superior took Storm by the jaws.

"Nobody can save you, knight. The curse will not be broken upon my command. But the curse will be useless now…"

Baphomet cackled in triumph. Bending down to retrieve his scythe, he granted Storm's wish willingly.


	47. The day of reckoning

-47-

_Doomsday draws near. The powerless shall fall, the weak shall perish, and the unworthy shall be eradicated. The Lord of Death stands before the genocide, yet mere mortals are incapable of stopping the carnage he was going to cause. For all the world knew, they were not incapable. Rather, it was impossible._

For once there was an indication that a sense of urgency gripped the hearts of Prontera's civilians. Constructors at the west gates sacrificed their time to complete the repairs, piling brick after brick, and nailing at objects to strengthen the gates. When the orcs strike by dawn, the time taken for them to encroach the city would at least permit some time for the defenders to counter in full force.

Sleep failed to creep up over most in the city. The Prontera ministers held long rounds of discussions, but in the end they ended up disputing each other's suggestions and advice. Knights and the recently recruited swordsmen geared themselves up both mentally and physically as they bid what might be their very last farewell. Some tried to pass the night by warming up themselves, working out their physics. Either that, or they sought out others in the barrack to spar with.

Due to the previous assault, Prontera experienced a serious shortage of hunters. So far only a handful of hunters, including new recruits, were all they had. Strategists were forced to abandon tactics that involved ranged combat, and that was one factor which led them into a dilemma. If the current numbers were arrayed against the orcs and the superiors combined, only a miracle could grant them freedom from hostility. Since there was little they could hope to achieve right now, they relied on the two warlords, or whatever they were constructing, would somehow make up for their faults. Notwithstanding, they racked their brains for there was barely four hours to dawn, and they just could not bring themselves to give the two warlords the benefit of a doubt.

The supervisors need not oversee their constructors closely as they did for the past week. The fact that they might die at the hands of the orcs or the four overwhelmed the orders issued to complete the repairs by dawn. They worked furiously through the night even though it meant no sleep. Plus, they had to build more sturdy structures to support the west gate which was made vulnerable.

Since noon, scouts were sent far out the four exits of the city to supply the city's defenders with more knowledge on the impending invasion. Each direction was assigned with three scouts; one for relaying of information back to the city, while the other two kept watch on the situation. The scouts at the east brought no news of immediate danger. It was not surprising, for both Payon and Alberta, the two cities that lie somewhere east of Prontera, could have took care of any appearance of hostility.

Those at the north brought forth similar news. If the orcs went by the north, the St Caprina monks would pose as a hindrance. Moreover, the lord of the settlement, Lord Stratza, had agreed to lend a hundred of his warriors to aid Prontera's cause. King Tristan the Third had appreciated Lord Stratza's intension of reinforcing Prontera's army, yet it was still insufficient to fight back the orcs. Knowing full well that St Caprina would too experience a shortage of warriors if more requests were made, King Tristan the Third depended on Prontera's own instead although it did not look promising.

The knights of the cavalry department were now arranged to fight on foot since many steeds were killed. At first some knights suggested that they head out to the Sograt Desert immediately to capture more Pecopecos, but the department chief had dismissed it, saying that stray Pecopecos required more than half a week to tame and train them. So, the factor of time had repudiated the idea.

The blacksmiths worked doubly hard. While the constructors desperately repaired the west gate, they forged and produced as many new shields and weapons possible. Although long hours in front of the warm work pit caused them immense exhaustion and heavy sweating, they wasted no time. Longer and larger lances were made for those erstwhile riders, while new shields were to replace those which were beyond their means to repair. Merchants in the city supplied the catalysts without a price, some heading out of the city to restock their supply of ingredients that were high in demand.

There was hardly any time to rest until peace was fully restored. The night was tempestuous. Any attempts by the defenders to rid their misgivings had failed miserably. The weather had already dampened their mood and hopes, and not a single person, including Cerberus, had thought of logical means to defeat the four. That meant they could only fight to their death.

'This is no solution. There is nothing I can do…' Cerberus thought bitterly.

The knight sought shelter in the Prontera church. He was soaked to the skin during the run to the church, and he felt uncomfortable. He then stripped off his armour and the tights underneath, leaving it to dry. Several acolytes marvelled at his tanned, well-toned torso, not to mention his rather huge arms. Followers of the church concocted rejuvenating mixtures and prepared a variety of herbs for the injured in the upcoming battle. The priests held a brief session of prayers to God in the main hall, before revising their plans in which the support required to back the main force up.

Although not a firm believer in God himself, Cerberus still participated in the praying session. An acolyte saw the half-naked knight, and presented him a fresh set of garments to put on. Cerberus stood up from one of those benches at the front when it concluded. Turning around, he saw a stout figure sitting in the corner of the back row by himself. That man had too, joined the prayers as far as the knight could tell. Cerberus then approached him.

"I thought you were drinking your hearts out at the inn," Cerberus started.

The man, an alchemist judging by the beige attire he wore and the potion belt around his waist, heaved a sigh and raised his head. His cheeks had a red tinge from the alcohol.

"Nah, I thought I should be doing something productive rather than drinking," Piffy replied.

Cerberus took a seat beside his alchemist friend.

"It's the first time seeing you pray, Pif. You rarely visit a church."

"You see, even I have to come here to pray. I pray for many reasons. I do it for my friends and relatives, I do it for the lot of us hoodlums, I do it for Prontera and hell, I do it to rid of the four!"

"Much will be lost… too much," Cerberus said absent-mindedly. The knight sighed, and looked at Piffy.

"Hey."

"What?"

"Remember the brawl at the inn?"

Piffy grinned, then gave a brief laugh.

"Of course. Alas, some entertainment before the war, and a good way to smash a guitar."

Cerberus did not look at all amused though. Rather, he remained dull.

"If Prontera was to be like the bard, we should all be glad that we knocked out the foe. Likewise, when we defeat the four, we rejoice."

"Aye."

"However, there will always be an effect to the cause. Like the brawl, the bard lost his guitar. At the very least, he could get another to replace it. While for us, nothing can replace those who sacrificed themselves," Cerberus said despondently.

Piffy patted the knight on the shoulder reassuringly and watched the priests prepare themselves. The battle had gotten the people of Prontera so uptight that practically no one was idling. There was still much to be done before dawn.

-

-

-

"Come on, come on, make this snappy!"

Larzen hastened his "boys". The Fiendbanes had no time to rest back in the barracks and their rest was interrupted by an exasperated Smith. The band of warriors barely slept for half an hour, before the warlord directed them back to the workshop to finish where they left off. Dragging their bodies up from their bedrolls reluctantly, they immersed themselves in cold water before trudging to the west.

Leaving Smith to attend to the organization of the Prontera troops and map-marking, the tall warlord left to oversee the project. A smile spread across his face when he found none of the band idling. They worked efficiently; a few stood at a corner to inspect the works, sharing their views how as to carry out further improvements. Another handful stood around a small table with blueprints and maps laid out as they assigned themselves to aspects of their speciality. Others were either atop ladders hammering nails, or arranging thick pipes all the way up the walls of the west gate.

"Get the launchers through those holes in the wall before the constructors mend it up!" Larzen hurried again.

Those holding discussions, hearing the warlord's orders, went off to speed up the process of the arrangement. The constructors were already waiting below to seal up the holes in the wall after the launchers, as the warlord called it, were inserted. Realizing that the constructors had worked through the night and had to remain behind instead of going home, Larzen bid them to rest while his band secured the thick launchers. The warlord even handed them some sustenance to invigorate themselves. That was also done partly to quiet down their complains.

A brief cheer caused Larzen to look up. The group had completed the last launcher, while they let out a breath in relieve.

"Yo," Larzen called to the constructors. "Apologies, but one last job for the night!"

After suffering a few harsh curses from the constructors who had overworked themselves, Larzen headed back to the basement of the workshop.

"The men outside will take care of it."

The band nodded. Most were lying down in various poses of slumber, while some massaged each other's tired shoulders. One unfortunate was forced by the rest to pack up the tools, while they ate or slept. When he was done, he reported to the warlord.

"Sir, now we just have to get some big supplies from the alchemists and dealers."

"I'll go," Larzen said when he noticed the dread look on the soldier. "But right now, get those asses up! We get back to Smith now, freshen ourselves and see what's in store for us."

-

-

-

It had been many days, but caution was still considered. The fiends within a dank pit scurried back into their holes or any other places to keep themselves out of sight when something amiss was sensed. The torches flared brightly for a brief moment, then dimmed as if to accommodate a grand entrance. The fiends watched in anxiety, expecting the four to return again as arranged.

However, only a lone knight appeared. But that did little to comfort them though. The black knight knelt on one knee in obvious unease, murmuring something incomprehensible to himself. Then, he inspected his body for injuries. Finding none of significance, he planted his black sword deep in the ground. The ebony knight peered around corners and scanned the area, as if expecting a visitor.

Those red orbs through the slits of his helm gleamed momentarily when he found himself alone in the pit. The metal sheathe made a soft clanking noise as it slapped against his armoured thigh.

"Lord of Death… Doppelganger… nobody remembered it," he mumbled in a deep voice. Since his arrival, a look of bewilderment was set firm in his face. He looked at his own hands, then started pummelling the wet ground as he yelled his frustrations. Yanking his sword free, he slashed at random and at anything he could find. A drainliar nearby was unfortunately sliced into half.

"I have failed… miserably."

The link between him and Storm had vanished suddenly. Abyss knew that his comrade had been killed by the merciless pair, Baphomet and Dark Lord. When he dragged Storm into the portal, only he was admitted successfully. But for Storm, the portal rejected him for some reason. As the portal suction became stronger, he was pulled and dragged into the depths of the teleportation portal. If he did not release his hold on Storm, the portal would have ejected him out of it. Worse still, the two of them would be killed.

"It is not my nature to fail! No! I tolerate none of this! I shall lead my own army to Prontera, and into victory! No more failures! No more!" he yelled with all his might.

The fiends continued watching in fear as the deranged monster screamed. Abyss took deep breaths to calm himself as he sat down. The flaring red orbs became faint, and he stopped quivering. The knight focused his thoughts, trying to paint a clearer image of the nearest dungeon from his current location. Then, as if he had already found one, he let out a long breath.

"Yes… The clock tower…" Abyss muttered. "The clock tower it shall be."

-

-

-

The landscape became hilly with wide rivers running in between. The search seemed to have been called off; the four companions heard no crude voices or orcish talks, and there was no discovery of any multitudes of orcish tracks. A wizard dressed in tattered black robes among the four guessed that the orcs could not have let them off so easily, considering that they were rather persistent creatures.

"From the surface we might have outsmart them," Sagi had said. "There had to be a reason they stopped the hunt."

The unthinkable became possible. Sagi did not bare his thoughts to his other companions, for fear that the priestess's paranoia would return undoubtedly. Skull had told them about the death of the orcs' two leaders, Orc Hero and Orc Lord. Now, the Lord of Death had usurped control over the green-skinned beasts. That had explained the fact that the orcs became ruthless and hostile of late. If the silver knight had called the search parties back, it was not unlikely that Lord of Death was preparing them in full to invade Prontera. Assuming that his predictions were true, then they had no reason not to remind the other cities of a cataclysm which was going to occur if Prontera was defeated. Geffen was already a good example of their sadistic works, and they would not do something any different to the capital city of Rune-Midgard.

The four companions soon found themselves trapped at a rocky ledge that provided them with a panorama over a dale and several tributaries. Maraulea's face lit up as she announced that beyond the large river lay the city of deception and thievery, Morroc. Although that did not have any effect on the others, for the exception of the wizard, the rogue continued making plans about a shopping spree back in her hometown. She expected Skull to be enthusiastic about returning to Morroc, but the assassin kept quiet. The place only reminded him of his painful childhood and nothing more.

Sagi knew very well that no matter how invulnerable Prontera was, the city's forces would hardly stand any chance against the four superiors combined. In spite of their grand church which was known to aid the elimination of evil and corruption through enigmatic means, the orcs would somehow allow enough time for Lord of Death to crush the church into a pile of useless rubble. He could not risk the assumption that the capital city had found themselves reliable alliances. Even if they did, what harm could there be if he was able to persuade Morroc to participate in the battle?

"Yes, Morroc be it. Have you a warp portal, priestess?" he asked when he was done contemplating.

Skull shifted uncomfortably.

"No, anywhere but Morroc."

Sagi raised a brow as he limped towards the assassin. The mild illumination from the staff allowed vision of his cold look.

"Have you better ideas?" he said, but more of a jibe considering the assassin to be irascible.

"Yes I could open one," Manald quickly cut in to prevent further arguments. She began to fumble for a blue gemstone to enable the operation. "This is weird, I remembered I had one here…"

Maraulea frowned as she had seen the whole thing.

"Oh pass it back, will you? That was childish! We have no time to waste, Immuonnas."

Sure enough, a blue gemstone was in Skull's possession. The rogue gave a swipe for it, but obviously the assassin was faster.

"Anywhere, but Morroc," he repeated. "Since you're not going there for a motive other than some trivial matters."

"You're wrong, Skull," Sagi took a step forward. "If it's trivial, think about it. We mean business, and that's not a stop in a Rune-Midgard tour, assassin. Every city under the world of Rune-Midgard should have come together and deal with the common foe. Morroc is not exception."

"What are you talking about? What does Morroc has to do with our destination?" Manald asked slowly. A nonplussed look crossed her face.

The wizard realized that he had blurted it out. Since Manald would know of this sooner or later, she should be told of this so as to prepare herself mentally.

"Priestess, listen," Sagi began, choosing his words carefully to make his speech less intense. "I'm suspecting that the four knights are using the orcs as a meat shield. When the orcs strike Prontera, the four will waste no time to destroy the church."

"What… the orcs… the church?"

"Yes, they won't be delaying much longer. Now that the search ended, it is time for them to march to Prontera," Sagi said, giving Skull a severe look to indicate the urgency. "And we need Morroc to add to the defending force."

"Makes some sense. Its gonna take about half a day to march from these lands to Prontera," Maraulea estimated.

"If its because of your childish reasons, just leave us. You may do whatever you deem fit," Sagi added.

Skull's eyes gleamed dangerously.

"You forget that I'm wanted, wizard! Yes, Morroc may be crowded with seas of shady creatures but that doesn't mean high officials won't be patrolling there. Is that childish a reason enough?"

Sagi began to grow impatient. Eyeing the assassin, he spoke again.

"Or is that an excuse?"

Maraulea crept beside the priestess and began whispering into her ears.

"And because he doesn't wanna be reminded of his sister. Talk to him. He might listen to you, Man."

"But –"

"Just do it."

Manald frowned, but to accomplish their goal she had to try. It was clear that Skull was going to treat her like a thorn in the flesh again. Still, he needed a talking to. Maybe now, she should not try the gentle approach anymore. But who knows, that might cause him to hurl the only stone over the ledge instead.

"We understand your worries," she said, choosing not to mention about his sister. "Do it like how you did in St Caprina. Despite your wanted status the residents hailed you as their saviour. Moreover this is your hometown; nobody will show prejudice against you."

The priestess motioned for the wizard to step back. Stepping closer to the assassin, she reached for the cowl and pulled it over his head. At first he flinched and wanted to shove her hands off, but her comforting smile somehow stopped him. Manald stretched her hands out, pleading him for the gemstone.

"We'll be at your side," she reassured further, then turned her head around to look at the wizard and the rogue behind her. It seemed like Maraulea was the only one listening, for Sagi had his back turned against them as he glanced far out to the distant deserts from the ledge.

"Yeah! You and I will get our good old rogues and sins to join Prontera. Maybe that fat king will forget about all these for your efforts!" Maraulea suggested excitedly.

There was a brief silence when Skull hesitated. When it seemed like he refused to budge, the winds carried over Sagi's words to him.

"You joined the Avenger for a reason. And once again… this is business. Not homecoming. This could only show me how poorly you can handle your inner turmoil."

Skull removed his cowl. Tossing the gemstone onto the ground, he strode off into the night. The priestess started after him, even calling him back. But the assassin continued walking, hardly stopping to listen to her. Finally giving up, she retrieved the blue gemstone, and a cone of cobalt light flashed. The three stepped into the portal without the assassin, as a vortex tossed them into the desert city, Morroc.


	48. Ticking down to doomsday

-48-

_Things are looking favourable for the dark side, while things look bleak for the defenders. The world of Rune-Midgard has no one to turn to except for its very own men and women. Revelations injected dread into the people. Invasions injected death into the people. Unification right now might settle the differences among cities, but it depends on their way of operation… _

The grasslands were packed with a sea of orcs. This night, all of them were deprived of proper rest and refreshments. Under the orders of the Lord of Death, the search was called off so as to prepare them for the march to Prontera. Though orcs were hardy and strong-willed creatures, the great silver knight knew better than to tire them out through a fruitless hunt for puny mortals. When he had successfully taken over Prontera, none would be able to escape from his clutches anyway.

The orc smiths were the ones who overworked more than anyone else did. The Lord of Death showed his contempt on the weapons they carried, expressing his dissatisfaction for those blunt, pathetic scraps of rusty metal they used as weapons. The smiths had to produce another set of new and improved ones by dawn, otherwise they would face the lord's wrath for delaying their march. As much as the orcs wanted to alter their fate, what could they possibly do? They did not want to serve as puppets to the Lord of Death any longer; they wanted to seek the glory and pride they frequently bathed in prior to their leaders' death. However, that was going to be denied from them as long as Death ruled. The fact remained; the culmination of the orc society had already concluded.

Together with the orc sentries, about half a thousand orc warriors excluding high orcs and orc archers were present during the assembly. The dark sky was starting to show hints of brightening; that meant their march to Prontera was going to commence very soon. Now, they just had to await further instructions from their lord, while Death went to oversee the work of his new lance. The other smiths worked doubly hard in the presence of the superior; none dared to voice their displeasure for working throughout the night for the past two nights. One orc unfortunately worked to his death. Not out of exhaustion or disease, but by the great silver knight's mere gaze of death when he was found skiving.

Finally, Death appeared. The clattering of Silver's hooves became the tell-tale sign, as the huge knight rode before the sea of orc forces. Apparently, the construction of the new lance has yet to complete, for Death came without any weapon which was unusual. Some expected the appointed smith, Voulje, would be pretty much dead already. It was about an hour before the rising of the sun. Just a mere hour for the lance to be done. Every single orc smith, excluding Voulje who was told strictly to remain working on the lance, attended the briefing. As if Death's entrance was a strain to them, the orcs' hearts pounded madly against their chest whenever he appeared, thus causing a slight pain in their chest. All the orcs knelt on one knee with their heads bent low when Death's voice boomed throughout the coming of dawn…

"When I say that you bunch will regain your former glory once again, being the unequalled knight I am, I will carry it out. The same rule applies; the worthy shall prove themselves to me, and the failures shall be executed."

A handful of orcs shrank away involuntarily, while other nervous ones bit their lips in dread. They knew their lord would never think twice on a lighter sentence, neither did he believe in leniency. Only one word summed up what he lived for: Supremacy.

"Within this one hour refresh yourselves and take whatever rest you need, for the chance to prove your valour may lay beyond your means…" he continued. "The chance to prove your valour… tear the church apart…"

Some orcs could not help themselves but let out a unconfident grunt. The orc sentries were to be included into the orc forces, though they may not fight as well as the warriors. At the very least, they had basic combat skills and there could only be benefits when they had more numbers.

Death pointed to where the orc smiths assembled and snapped his fingers. The group of smiths, hidden somewhere behind the alignment of warriors, hoisted something that looked like a sack and made their way forward. Each allotment of orc forces had smiths doing something similar, placing the large sack at the front. When they untied the knot that bounded the opening of the sack, a surprise greeted the orcs. In each sack lay a great number of broadswords with qualities that did not look orcish. These swords both amazed them, as well as causing them hesitation. They knew these broadswords were much stronger than the orcish swords and axes they used to wield, but they disliked the idea of utilizing weapons used by humans. They preferred to preserve their own practises and traditions.

Upon another snap of a finger, another group of smiths brought forth another sack. This time, an assortment of battling paraphernalia was revealed. But in it contained mostly sturdier and tougher shields, together with other equipments like footgears and body armours.

"Take your selection and return! Now, prepare the wagons and the catapults. Sound the horns!"

Following Death's echoing command, an orcish horn blared a long note, signalling the commence of the march towards Prontera…

But Death himself did not start just yet. He had one more last business back in the camp. Riding over to the smiths, Death dismounted Silver and once again scanned for Voulje, the smith responsible for the creation of his new lance.

"Voulje!"

The elder smith started, then stared fearfully at the lord. Jabbing a finger to his pit for his chin was quivering too much to speak, he indicated the scimitar which had melted. As if to show Death that the completion lance would not be delayed any further, Voulje carefully poured the melted blade of the scimitar over the lance which stood at least thirteen foot long. The formerly black lance now started to sizzle upon contact with the mixture, and the shaft turned red hot. The tip of the lance shimmered brightly with occasional flares as wave after wave of heat assailed the two.

The gleam suddenly vanished. Voulje stared incredulously at the change; the lance had undergone a significant boost in power, and its ethereal appearance still shone a mild silver light. Voulje reached a shaky hand towards the lance, but Death stopped him.

"There is no need… I feel it. I feel what I've been wanting to possess," the lord rasped, foreseeing the smith's intension of strengthening it further with several more strokes from the smithing hammer. "This is what I want…"

Death grabbed the lance –and retracted his hands almost instantly. A flash of lightning was ejected from the lance when he touched it, the electrocuting sensation still persisting in his hands. Instead of displaying his frustrations, Lord of Death grinned with ecstasy.

"Yes… what is pain to the greatest knight… who can deny me of greatness…"

Death took another firm grip on the lance. Lightning coursed through his body, but the great silver knight suppressed the pain and dismissed it. Voulje stared in horror as blue streaks of electricity surrounded the knight's frame. It looked as if the lance rejected Death's claim over it. The knight took another hold on the lance with the other hand. Raising it high up, he gave a roar. Multi-coloured lightning crackled and boomed, but that did little to affect Death. He was now wrapped tightly in a cocoon of lightning, the tremendous power threatening to reduce him into a pile of bone and ash.

A bright flare of white light covered the lance, the silhouette of it could not even be seen. More currency was discharged from the lance, yet Lord of Death still appeared undaunted. The lightning seemed like some harmless fireworks a child played with.

_You are worthy, knight._

Death did not know if the others heard it, but it appeared concise to him despite the roaring of lightning. Did the lance just speak to him?

The awesome display of coloured lightning vanished without a trace abruptly. The lance rejected the knight no more. Death then let out a triumphant laugh. Right now, with the Strength Trait and the godly lance, even the gods themselves may feel threatened, let alone Rune-Midgard. As Death had said, the weak shall perish, and the world shall worship him as the venerable lord of lords. His conquests were unstoppable…

-

-

-

If there was any chance of salvation for the city of Payon, Moonlight Flower and her new contingent of cave demons had completely dashed it. The Elite Hunter forces had almost half their numbers wiped out, and they were forced to retreat out of town. Even their commander had become one of Moonlight's hapless victims. Without a leader, there was mayhem. The forces argued with one another.

There was little Tien and his two ranger companions could do. Even the case of potions could not aid them much now, for the demons were advancing way too fast. Arrows flew continuously without dramatic effect on the multiplying spawns of the cave. Moonlight Flower fell most of the men with devastating magic, showering them with fiery bolts. Demons drove a wedge into defenders who struggled to re-group, scattering them away before slaying them. They were outnumbered at least one to five.

"You look very pale, Tien," Elemire observed. "Were you attacked or what?"

"No, just the usual effect of the Asura Strike. We need to get everyone out of here! We stand no chance," he urged.

Pay nodded, then left on his own to lead a small group of civilians out through a region with lesser concentration of demons. Tien ushered the huntress to do the same, and she complied. There was no other way to stem the flow temporarily, except for…

The monk flung open the case, taking two awakening potions in each hand. Biting off the cork, he downed the two bottles even though he knew he had a heavy overdose of it. But he did not end there. The potion only helped agility-wise, and not his health. He shoved about half a handful of herbs into his mouth and chewed furiously. Tien cared less about waiting for the medicine to take effect.

The transformation took place for the second time. Though it was strictly discouraged for monks to evolve into the critical state within a short period of time, Tien had no choice. His eyes shone a green glow, and his skin changed into shades of deep red. Lightning flowed around his frame, his knuckles swelling with twice the amount of power. Just as the critical state was fresh, the medicine showed signs of effect. Tien was then spurred to help the dying warriors.

Initially he started off with a combination of impressive martial arts that knocked a handful of demons out. A series of upper cuts and strikes from those agile feet sent three sohees flying off to knock back a few more zombies. A couple of bonguns stood over a helpless warrior who was bleeding from a severe wound on the head, ready to send him to death. But Tien snuck up behind them, snapping their necks. The two fell limp.

_Fighting back well, are you?_

Tien faltered suddenly as the feminine, yet disturbing voice rang in his head again. It was as if the distraction was made timely, for a sohee managed to drive her dagger into the ribs of the monk. Tien roared madly as the dagger came out, blood soaking his brown attire. He kicked the dagger away from the sohee's hands before shoving a fuelled fist right through her face.

"Coward! Stop the talk and fight me!" he shouted out for the thought-intruder.

Tien hooked a leg around a munak's arm to stop her swipe, then delivered a heel kick. The force sent the munak flipping over her back and landing roughly. A few other warriors stood up when they saw Tien displaying his martial arts relentlessly for the sake of the city, using him as a motivation. Soon, more of the injured climbed back to their feet under some brief encouragement from the rest.

_The source of motivation, Tien. Impressive… how I like watching you fight._

Tien stopped in the midst of a combo, giving time for his undead adversary to strike him at the side of his head. The dazed monk fell onto the ground from the blow, then a sword appeared out of the zombie's chest, stopping the death strike. A warrior had saved him. Grabbing his saviour's outstretched arm, Tien stood up to battle off an immediate zombie.

"This is enough!" Tien roared. Then, turning his head back to the warriors, he shouted again. "If you do not want to be perished, get away from me!"

Taking a deep breath, he felt a surge of energy welling up within him. Tightening his already clenched fists, he willed every iota of strength he had summoned into his Kaiser Knuckles. When more demons neared, he unleashed the final move. A shockwave held back all advances, the demons were forced to keep a distance from the monk. The ground cracked, then opened up into a burning crevice that stretched outward swiftly. Those in front of Tien disappeared almost instantly when the burning crevice touched them, erasing the last of their vestiges. A considerable number of demons were cleared, but at the expense of Tien's fall. The monk lay very still on the ground as blood spilled out of his mouth.

Although he fell into a deep sleep, the voice continued haunting him. Whatever that thing was, she did not let him off. Her voice became livid.

_You think that little pound-the-ground performance could stop me? You're so damn wrong, monk! Now your dear city is going to pay!_

Tien struggled to snap out of his sleeping state. But darkness swarmed over him, overwhelmed him. Despite the raging battle that had been going on for hours, everywhere was quiet to him. He could accomplish nothing but sleep. Just then, the familiar ringing of a bell jolted him up. Tien's eyes fluttered open. The effect of the second Asura Strike had taken its toll on him, yet he refused to stay down. The monk sat up, then a pair of arms grabbed him out of the battle.

"What –"

The monk was cognizant of the danger he faced around him. Especially the source of the voice that perpetually distracted him. However, he could still fight. He did not need to be withdrawn from the battle.

"It's me, Pay. You're seriously hurt, my friend. You will not fight any further."

"No! I need to seek the voice! The voice…"

Pay's concerned countenance followed the monk's delirious talk.

"What voice? I guessed a demon or two had knocked you pretty bad on the head…"

The monk did not listen to him. He tried standing up again, but another pair of hands shoved him back down. A blonde huntress, apparently sharing similar opinion, bade the monk to rest.

"Look at that! Big swelling at your temple… no wonder you're hearing voices," Elemire said.

Then, as if proving that the two rangers were wrong, several bolts of lightning flashed down upon the few warriors not too far away from them. Although many demons had disappeared from existence from Tien's Asura Strike, there was a leader among them who was capable of restoring order and fighting off the warriors at the same time with magic. The leader was the main force to be reckoned with.

"The voices… Moonlight…" Tien murmured. He had recognized those deadly elemental bolts as spells from the feline superior's repertoire. A shrill laughter inside his head sounded, almost disintegrating his brains. Tien cupped both hands over his ears, hoping to shut the piercing disturbance out. However, the laughter only tormented him mentally when it rose to an impossibly high pitch.

_So you've realized who I am, monk. The last I've seen you, oh wait. The last my decoy had seen you, you erased her away just like how you did earlier. You suppose you're invincible after murdering a mere puppet of myself? Not unless you defeat me, the real deal!_

Massive bolts of fire and ice struck the Payon warriors and the hunter forces in rapid succession, the bodies immediately charred or frozen. Then, those who were within range were swiftly killed.

"No! We're dying!" Tien screamed.

_I'm glad you realized that, monk. When the sluggish hunters are dealt with, you turn will come._

The three sat watching as their worst horrors were realized. From the night sky descended a heavy rain of fiery bolts, with frequent streaks of electricity burying into the warriors. Those red bolts of flame pelted over the entire city, expunging the very last group of the Elite Hunter forces. The only fighting force of Payon had been defeated. But, the firestorm has yet to cease.

Pay and Elemire supported Tien as they ran for the bridge. They were all seared by the bolts, while it was impossible to evade them just like one who could not avoid a single drop of rain during a thunderstorm. Another shrill laughter echoed in Tien's mind, but he fought to ignore it. When the laughter stopped, the firestorm too ceased.

In their duress, a horn blared. They did not know if that was the reason the firestorm stopped, or was it because of other reasons. Maybe Moonlight wanted to torture him instead of killing him on the spot. A fast death may be too light a punishment for him.

"A horn? That doesn't sound like one of Payon's," Pay remarked. "Are there others who haven't escaped?"

"Look at that!" Elemire exclaimed in awe.

The three followed the direction of the huntress's finger. Behind them at the bridge, an astounding sight greeted them. Even though it was still dark, they could not be mistaken. It was an army. A rather vast army of blacksmiths and merchants, all from Alberta. Every single one of them had their axes raised high, and another battle commenced after the commander's battle roar. The blacksmiths crashed straight through the scattered demons, stemming their flow. Giant axes smashed through head of the cave spawns, more war cries echoing to raise their morale further.

Those white clothed army from Alberta moved at a constant speed in spite of Moonlight Flower's magical bolts. Earth spikes jutted up, impaling a handful of blacksmiths to their deaths. A brief firestorm started again, burning many beyond healing. But above all these, the war cries only ascended.

The dwindling demonic forces were now surrounded. Axes swung and swords hacked at the cave spawns mercilessly, forcing a large group to retreat back into the caves. Imbued with new hope and motivation, the two rangers left the monk to recuperate while they began firing arrows. The two cleared the demons to sight the leader, Moonlight Flower as Tien had said. They tried following the source of those magical bolts, but no avail. She was well hidden among the din. Either that, or she was shifting from one spot to another in the blink of the eye.

Silver arrows whistled past the blacksmiths and buried into the demons. The remaining Alberta army cleared away the last few zombies, and all was silent again. Cheers erupted in the army, but Pay and Elemire still appeared ill at ease. Moonlight Flower had to be around somewhere…

From the rear of the Alberta forces a feline figure materialized. Before the blacksmiths could do anything about it, powerful bolts of lightning darted around them, causing a series of agonizing screams.

A group of blacksmiths approached with axes brandished, but Moonlight easily deflected all of it with her bell-pole. The superior's weapon incapacitated many; it was as if the bell was made from the hardiest titanium and one hit from hit could render someone into a coma. Putting aside the weapon, Moonlight raised a plot of earth to impale her foes. Blood squirted around madly as the bodies were piled on top of each other up the earth spikes. When she moved her hand in a fashion that would create another firestorm, two arrows imbedded into the feline superior's shoulder. She screamed as her bell-pole fell.

Two more arrows hit the back of her neck. Turning her attention to the two mysterious archers, Moonlight struck the two with lightning bolts. Although they dodged it just in time, the force of the explosion sent them sprawling face-first onto the ground. The flat of an axe slammed squarely into her face as Moonlight staggered backwards, stunned. Then, a booted foot rammed into her back, interrupting another incantation to a spell.

Tien whipped her around and laid a jab to her head. But his fist flew into air since she ducked nimbly, then kicked him in the shin. Tien buckled and fell onto one knee.

"Damn it! I told him to make himself scarce!" Pay swore. He could not believe how hot-headed the monk could be.

Elemire let loose another silver bolt. To the huntress's shock, Moonlight somehow caught the bolt, then she grinned at the two. Raising the bolt, she drove the sharp end into Tien's shoulder. The monk howled, another wound soaking his attire with blood. His entire face was already painted in a mask of blood, while more dripped past his chin from his mouth. The two Asura Strikes had no doubt stimulated internal injuries.

While she was busy dealing with Tien and the two archers, several more blacksmiths from behind scored a few slashes at her back. The three companions were relieved from Moonlight's attacks, yet it did not mean that the army could handle it themselves. After all, she was a superior, and an army might not even suffice. The three of them had better take the opportunity to keep themselves away for a while before they struck again.

The two archers emerged from their vantage point, dragging Tien as far from Moonlight as they could take him. Pay had to admit that Moonlight was an excellent fighter; she could handle both melee and ranged attacks as though it was a mere child's play. Of course, this was not unnatural considering the fact that she was a superior. As inferior humans were to her, while common sense served as enough evidence without the scene before him, he just could not help but trouble over means to permanently shut her away from Payon. Like Moonlight had told Tien earlier, this Moonlight they saw right now was the real deal. To kill the 'real deal', they might as well request for the moon.

Suddenly, the night seemed to flare into brightness. Some even mistook it as a hasty change to day. But that was not the case, when the light disappeared. Everyone, including Moonlight, looked up to witness something flashing across the cloudy night sky. Something red followed after, and the clouds began to part. The clouds swirled in the night sky, then a deep rumble sounded. The rumbles sounded a few more times at intervals, stopping only when the clouds stopped swirling.

The strange happenings had stopped the battle. Everybody continued staring at the night sky, but no assumptions made sense. Moonlight Flower herself was the only one comprehending all these, however. Abandoning the city, she started leaping away. Not back to the direction of the cave, but rather at the entrance.

"Transgressors… the pact had been broken," Moonlight said to herself after she absorbed the consternating signs. "The pact was transgressed… they wage war by seeking destruction."

The blacksmiths ventured after Moonlight, but Pay ran out, shouting at them to halt. The hunter advised them not to provoke the feline superior now that she backed off, lest they invited more bloodshed. The commander of the blacksmith army, a beefy man almost over his prime, approached the hunter who seemed to understand it.

"Why, lad? What do you know?"

Elemire too ran out of the vantage point to join Pay. Squeezing his shoulders, she made inquiries just as the curious commander did.

"I don't know," Pay answered, causing disappointed looks. "Moonlight Flower could easily kill all of us, yet she walked away."

"We're still not getting anywhere, hunter," the commander, his white shirt totally stained with blood, pursued.

Pay shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he had no knowledge on the matter. Suddenly, a bloodied hand grabbed Pay. Tien supported himself for he was barely able to walk. What startled everyone was that, nobody could see a fragment of his face. A mask of blood was adhered to his face. Even the commander grimaced at the sight.

"If that bitch left, that would be regarding the affairs of the superiors," Tien guessed, saying it slowly. Before he continued though, he had to spit out a glob of blood. "Even the heavens are showing signs of a caveat."

The blacksmiths, including the commander, blanched as the dreadful statement left the monk's mouth. They awaited more from Tien, though at this point of time no news could be causing a fanaticm.

"Not too long from now…"

"What?" Elemire blurted without even realizing that the tension forced it out.

"Seeing Moonlight's behaviour and hearing her words, there seems to be a coming of Doomsday."


	49. The dread

-49-

_The dreaded battle against the Lord of Death and his orcs will begin. Not only must the Prontera forces defend against them, the destruction of the church must also be taken into account. The capital city had to muster all they had and fight even though it may still spell doom in the end._

A lone knight who looked defenceless stared ahead of him. He kept a calm composure although the place was unusually silent; it might have been a mistake to come here. In spite of the possibility that he would be ripped to shreds by the minotaur-like monstrosities, the knight stepped forward with a straight face. Nothing of fear or hesitation was displayed. He was driven to madness; the minotaurs should be the ones fearing him instead.

Then, just a few feet away from him, a lone minotaur-like creature appeared. The challenger was undeniably an enormous behemoth; he had two curved horns jutting past his head, and stood on two thick hooves. He had fiery red hide, his eyes of equal shade of redness. The giant, standing at least ten foot in height, wore a large nose ring. In both hands carried a powerful stone hammer that could crush a diamond into countless smithereens. The knight knew immediately what this behemoth was. They were called Majorous.

From behind the Majorous came about a dozen other minotaurs, but they had brown hides instead. Being the minions of Majorous, those brown ones were called Minorous. No matter how huge and imposing they were, the knight still did not back away. Instead, he unsheathed his black blade, and strode towards the Majorous who still had not made a move.

The Abyss Knight was not a fool either. If he came too close the Majorous, who was waiting for the charge to meet, the brown minions would interfere with a dozen hammers crushing down on him. They did not believe in individual duels; they fought together as a group. The Majorous did not have to question the knight, he would just let him understand the consequences himself of it by the time he struck.

Things went awry for the minotaurs. They had relied too much on their assumption, and therefore their downfall could not have come any sooner. Abyss waved his sword in an arc, and a wave of darkness swept the group of minotaurs, including the leader, away to the wall. The clocks around them ticked furiously as the red leader stood up, a shocked expression etched deep in his face. Taking his hammer, he lumbered towards Abyss with the weapon held high overhead.

Since he was down to one opponent, Abyss wasted no more of his powers to unleash another dark wave. Things were made so much easier for him, the Majorous could might as well be an object of amusement for him. Abyss went down and cleverly rolled over to the back of the red minotaur, jabbing the end of his black sword into one hoof. The behemoth fell, howling for the rest of his minions for help. Now that the Majorous was disabled for the moment, Abyss turned and raised his sword for another wave of darkness, but those brown minions had already scampered off. They clearly feared the knight for beating them down in one stroke of the sword, and wisely ran off to avoid being hit the second time.

Abyss went over to the injured Majorous. Directing his blade to the wound on the hoof, the minotaur thought that the knight was readying the death strike. He closed his eyes for some time, but nothing hit him. The sword was still poised at the hoof, yet Abyss did not attack. Surprisingly, black energies flowed from the sword and into the wound. The Majorous winced as the wound closed, then the flow of the black energy stopped immediately. The red minotaur stared in disbelieve.

"What is this…" the Majorous rumbled.

Abyss kept silent for a moment. Before he decided to speak of his intensions, he inserted the sword back into the scabbard.

"Come under me, and I will lead you minotaurs to greatness."

The Majorous was sceptical. But he continued listening to the ebony knight nonetheless.

"Isn't what you suffered enough evidence?" Abyss continued. "Defy me, minotaur, nothing can save you."

The red behemoth sniffed loudly, then stood up. He towered over the knight, yet he was powerless against him.

"What we do?"

"Rally whatever minions that ran away and everything else in this dank basement. As of this moment, you will fight for me. We have much to accomplish today."

The Majorous nodded almost reluctantly, then asked one last question.

"Where we go?"

Abyss sneered, then opened a shimmering portal that would lead him to the opening of the Clock Tower of Al De Baran.

"Prontera…"

The ebony knight noticed the startled look on the bestial face, but he could care less about his level of confidence and obvious doubts. Under his command and guidance, none of them would falter. Giving the behemoth one last look of warning, the portal closed instantaneously as soon as Abyss stepped through it.

-

-

-

The first rays of light shone throughout Rune-Midgard, and the Prontera troops were already stationed outside the city. This was a pleasant sight to many; at least that meant that the men were well prepared. Perhaps the only ones who flustered were the two warlords and the commanders, who had much arrangement to tend to.

Most of the troops were assigned to the west gate. It was rather obvious that the orcs would come through the west gate, since the orc camp lay far west from Geffen. It pained the warlords that some had to be posted to the south gate from previous experiences, and those numbers at the west were decreased. Still, they could not risk baring the south gate free for breaching.

As usual, the forefront of the army consisted of foot soldiers, and few lines back from them stood the mounted knights. Though they only added up to a meagre two hundred excluding the reinforcements from St Caprina, the determined look on their faces betrayed any misgivings they had. Priests and acolytes were grouped at the back of the main force, ready to provide immediate medical care. Monks stood side by side with the foot soldiers, revising for the last time the chain of martial arts they planned to unleash.

Atop the repaired walls were a line of hunters. The constructors had managed to design the top of the walls such that the hunters were ensured further safety, and the risk of being hit by orc marksmen was reduced now that they had realized the indispensability of hunters. Until now, barely twenty hunters were recruited into the army. And of course, the difference this time had to be the launchers built by the warlords' very own band of warriors. The nozzles were painted the same colour as the walls to hide it before the orcs discovered it.

"It doesn't matter about the plagiarising part, right? What matters is that, we give it our best shot," the sub-commander of the foot soldiers spoke to Larzen.

The tall warlord was thoughtful for a while. Then, as if coming to a decision, he snapped his fingers.

"I'll think about it."

"What?" the sub-commander frowned. "But sir, what's there to think about? I'm afraid we do not have even a mere minute's grace to think!"

"Hmm," Larzen rubbed his chin. "I'll think about it."

The sub-commander let out a long breath of disappointment, and retreated back to his position. Larzen followed the man, then laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Actually we could though… so hurry before Smith's gonna find out."

Larzen winked at the sub-commander. The man's eyes went wide open. Saying his thanks, the sub-commander yelled to his troops. About two dozen swordsmen and knights marched out of their current positions near the standard, and gave their sub-commander a salute.

"Maybe some of you are still unaware of this, but the Prontera army has a serious shortage of hunters," he spoke loudly with a straight face. "I trust you all are well-trained with spears, and you are therefore re-assigned to the walls."

One knight stepped forward in respect, and gave another salute before asking a question.

"May I ask –"

"The group of you will fight from range with spears. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sub-commander Buonor!" the group replied in a synchronized manner.

Sheathing their drawn swords, they proceeded to the walls. Those behind the group who left filled the gap. Sub-commander Buonor then returned to the front of his troops, and continued issuing orders from where he had left off. The south gate was once again guarded by the Fiendbanes, but with a few absent. The launchers at the west had to be operated from the workshop basement after all. Before the break of dawn, Larzen had already gained a huge supply of acid and flame bottles to be released from the launchers. However, that did not guarantee a victory. Nor did it ensure a total success.

Yes, the new weapon looked impressive, that adding to the defenders' arsenal. But who knows if it went awry somehow? After all this was the very first time they were putting it to official use.

The Fiendbanes took their place in another ambush. A platoon of knights stood just outside the south gate, together with the alchemist, Piffy. Standing at the front and leading the men was the knight with two swords, Cerberus. Although they would be heavily outnumbered again as expected, they had the devious Fiendbane's to fall back on. They could only hope that whoever their leader was, he did not concentrate his assault on the south gate. What made up their greatest worry though, was the fact that men might be barrelled over by boulders. The orcs had put their catapult systems into action, yet they had nothing better to offer.

Lord Stratza of the settlement St Caprina understood the importance of the church very well. Despite sending over a hundred of monks, the lord had promised to help suppress any northern assaults, if that, to prevent the destruction of the church. While the grand church lay at the northern corner of Prontera, who knew if the attacks that was likely to come from the west and the south were means to divert the host's attention? This time, many were forced to depend on the sacred powers of the church to help them survive this ordeal. As if the priests themselves shared similar notions, they hardly stopped praying till the break of dawn. When a horn to summon the forces blared, they reluctantly gathered themselves back to their feet from long hours of kneeling.

"So what if we have more or less thirty men? So what if the orcs come on us with over double, triple, or quadruple our force? Despair not, for the very brink of Rune-Midgard's existence lies in the balance," Cerberus shouted to his phalanx of knights given to him as requested. "If you do not fight in the name of your king, at least do it for yourselves and your loved ones."

The men gave a roar, including the alchemist. Cerberus then eyed each men, gesturing to them to make whatever preparations they needed. Turning back to the horizon which was going to be filled with many hulking figures, he prayed silently to whichever god who happened to hear it.

From the back of the platoon stepped out an alchemist. Carrying his new buster axe proudly, he approached the pensive knight.

"Whaccha thinkin'?"

Cerberus, who was staring across the blue morning sky, shifted his gaze to his friend beside him.

"This may be the very last chance we speak to each other, my friend. I have much to do, I can't die in this battle."

"The men see you as their leader, lad. You don't sound as confident now back when you spoke to them," Piffy observed, jerking a thumb behind him.

The knight crossed his arms over his chest and let out a long exhale.

"I still want to free Cranius from his madness and prejudice. I still want to see the lot of us again. And I still want to see… the ceremony," he spoke the last line with much bitterness in his tone.

Piffy shook his head sadly. Cerberus could not tell if it was because of the overwhelming odds against them, or his speech. When the alchemist started to speak again, the dreaded sound reverberated throughout Prontera. Every warrior straightened up, with their swords drawn to answer the blare of a battle horn. Standards were raised high, while the army was closely locked together in a formation to prevent breaching of ranks. The hunters had already sighted the very first sign of orcs from afar, before scouts ran back for a confirmation. Dark clouds began to expand throughout the darkening skies, matching the sullen mood of the war. The orc invasion had begun.

-

-

-

Many people passed a cursory glance at a blue pillar that materialized. A young boy, judging by his brownish tabard and the devious look on his face, was no doubt a thief. Unfortunately for him, he had walked into the spot just in time when a portal opened, and someone from within fell on top of him. The two fell and rolled off, before two more foreign figures stepped out of it.

"What the hell do you think I am!? Your fall-breaker?" the thief, barely seventeen, snapped at the rogue who fell onto him.

In between his speech though, he had sneaked a dagger out from his side and pointed it in the rogue's gut.

"Take out all of it, before I turn nasty," the boy threatened.

The rogue merely laughed as she continued examining the boy's face. A black figure from behind her wanted to interfere, but she held up a hand to indicate that she was able to handle this boy. The air was rather hazy, and the sandy city made breathing ever more difficult. But who could complain, since Morroc had to be located in the middle of a desert of all places.

"Is that you, Pickie?" the rogue asked calmly although she was held at knife-point. "That's not the way to pick zeny, boy. And you're too slow, if you don't mind me."

The boy frowned deeply, but he did not withdraw the dagger.

"What Pickie? Don't address me as such like you've known me for centuries!"

"Are the sands worsening your sight? Don't you recognize me? Or did you left A-S-S?" the rogue talked quickly.

From behind her another female came forward, squatting beside the rogue. The boy eyed her warily, then looked further back to a black robed figure. The newcomer tugged at the rogue's arm.

"What is that? We should get away from this boy, there is something more urgent than this, certainly!"

The rogue grinned to calm her down, not at all caring for the knife still poised at her gut.

"It stands for Association of Sneaky Slayers."

"What? Who in his madness came up with this…"

The female, dressed in a priestess dress, threw a baffled glance at the rogue. But the latter only turned her attention back to the boy. The rogue then pushed back her red hair as if to allow better recognition.

"It's me, Lea."

The deep frown on the boy's face never seemed to leave. Slowly, he recovered his dagger and inserted it back into his side. He ran a hand through his messy hair and stood up.

"You know them?"

The rogue, Lea as she called, went back to her feet. She gave a laugh as though the boy had asked a foolish question.

"Why not? Since I already know your name, I must know A-S-S, kid!"

"I'm not Pickie!" the boy insisted. "What do you want from me?"

"Did you all shift? Or is it still down the same old smelly alley?" the rogue inquired with amusement.

For once, the boy's brows parted with the disappearance of the frown. He looked at the rogue for a little while more, still doubtful of her intensions. The black robed figure behind them all along suddenly approached with clear impatience. The priestess held a blank look, for she had not the slightest idea of what was happening.

"Fine, speak to Invus yourself," the boy said. "I'm heading back anyway."

The young thief spun from them and walked away from the square. The three of them had to keep a very close distance from the boy, for the exit from the square required a lot of effort. Large groups of rogues, assassins and thieves crowded the place, while they had to clutch their zeny pouches tightly. There was a high chance that they would be mugged if they did not guard their money carefully.

Morroc was like a swirl of yellow and brown. Sands covered the filthy streets, and many had to wear an accessory to shield their eyes from the haze and the swirling sand. Since the three had none, they used their forearms as one. The boy, known as Pickie, walked briskly, leading them through several squalid avenues. Assassins hid in the shadows, eyed dangerously at those who traverse the area. The three of them following Pickie were not at the least intimidated, except for the priestess who occasionally yelped in disgust, or scaring herself when she thought someone was hiding in secluded corners.

Pickie led them out of a narrow alley, and they could see the huge pyramid of Morroc not too far away. The golden structure stood proudly at the edge of the desert city and novices ventured within it to take the test in order to become a full-fletched thief.

"Not that I can remember… where is it?" the rogue asked the boy.

"There," Pickie jerked a thumb back at the dark alley they just came out of.

The three of them turned back into the alley, but they could find nothing. The black robed figure, who carried a long staff, conjured a ball of flame that floated atop his palm. The dark alley was illuminated, and to their immediate left was a short staircase leading downwards. Extinguishing the flame, the man that looked very much of a wizard followed the rogue down the wet stairs, eventually leading to a wooden door. The rogue squealed in delight. The other two thought she had found some spoils unwanted or something, but she told them that "this was the place".

"This place is definitely unfit for inhabitant!" the priestess among the three commented while covering her nose.

Expecting the door to be locked, the rogue almost exclaimed when the knob turned easily, opening the door. Surprisingly, it was warmly lit inside the room. There were at least fifty assassins and rogues, drinking and making merry even though the day marked no significant event. The black wizard frowned. The Lord of Death was going to expand his dark conquests, yet they were treating it as if nothing was happening?

Those inside stopped whatever they were doing. All of them fixed the intruders a piercing stare, some of them even whipping out their katars and daggers.

"I don't like this place one bit. So where and who is this Invus that boy spoke of?" the priestess whispered nervously.

However the rogue passed caring about her companions. She felt at home now, and nothing else seemed to matter. Through it all, she did not forget about the main purpose here though. The rogue found it strange that nobody recognized her; had she been absent for so long? Or were there new recruits?

The black wizard suddenly grabbed the rogue back.

"Tell me, what organization is this? In case you're too overwhelmed with nostalgia, we leave."

The people in the room stared at the wizard in particular. Their gazes swept over his body, and at his staff. He would have expected them to be mesmerized by his necklace, but he had kept it hidden inside his robe. For some reason, a handful of this "ASS" members did not try keeping their disdain in check. The wizard suspected that they had some unsettled feud with wizards of sorts.

The young boy who led them here came into the room.

"They mean no harm. Just carry on."

Only after a few moments, they returned to their drinking and other shady businesses. Pickie led the three past the glaring crowd and down another short flight of stairs that winded into another, leading to a small area with benches arranged in a linear fashion. At the far end opposite where they stood, a large door awaited. Pickie then explained that a man called Invus was within the chamber ahead.

"Looks like a big shot, yet he came up with such an abbreviation," the priestess spoke softly.

Pickie glanced at her, supposedly hearing what she had said.

"He's just a kid, a mercurial one I must say."

Before the priestess could display her amusement, the door swung open slowly. Pickie ushered the three in. The black wizard was only made to move on because he was intrigued by this organization, and the gathering of more information. Maybe the people of Morroc knew something they did not…

Sure enough, a "kid" appeared in the chamber. The floor had mats laid over it, and the walls here were made of red bricks. A small fireplace sat in the corner, but there was no fire in it. Several pieces of unused firewood was scattered near it. Two torches hung opposite each other on the wall, providing a somewhat dim glow over the chamber which was considered large. Other than a few pieces of furniture, it was rather empty. And in the middle of the chamber stood a person. Of course, as Pickie told them, that person was undoubtedly Invus.

At first impression his height made him look above twenty. But his juvenile features quickly overlapped it, while a grin flashed. When the three companions managed to take a look at his face, they assumed that he was definitely no more than sixteen. What shocked them was that he was already promoted to an assassin, a pre-matured one. Usually at such an age, others could only be a thief at most.

Walking to the three unarmed, he ushered them to take a seat, except for the rogue who was pestering Invus if he recalled who she was.

"Why not, Maraulea? You were one of my favourite underling before you left. Welcome back!" Invus said. With that, they gave each other a brief embrace.

"You're the only one who remembered me! What happened to the rest?" Maraulea spoke with excitement.

"I'll fill you in later," the young assassin reassured. Then, looking past her, his brows furrowed. "Your friends? Hmm… I've never seen them around here before."

"Yup, Manald the priestess, and this wizard," she paused to recall his full name, but seemingly failed. "Oh, Sagi the wizard."

Sagi leaned his Staff of Soul against the wall, and walked over to the assassin. He disregarded the formalities.

"Invus, is it? Do you lead the bunch of hoodlums up there?"

The young assassin, sensing impatience in the wizard, bid him to take a seat once again. His jovial look showed no umbrage.

"Yes, yes I'm like the chairman, though in Morroc I don't think there's such a grand title. You must seek ASS for a reason. So is it dagger trading, or katar sharpening? Perhaps a drink too?"

That only aggravated the bemused wizard. Manald left her seat to hold him back, tugging at his arm to restrain whatever he was planning to do. Deciding that Sagi would only offend the assassin sooner or later, she would do the talking instead.

"Sir Invus, I supposed you have heard of the Lord of Death's coming invasion over Prontera?"

Invus's smile vanished, and replacing it was a peculiar look.

"I'm sorry, but no. So, what wishes does this beautiful priestess have of me?"

A tinge of red filled Manald's cheeks. At the same time she was surprised that he appeared way too casual about it.

"I hope you realize the seriousness, sir Invus. We were thinking if we could borrow your men to fight for Prontera."

"ASS had been missing in action for too long!" Maraulea added. "Please? Please? Too much beer's gonna make them fat."

Invus was thoughtful for a while, as if put in a difficult spot. Yes, perhaps the two female was right. Following the fall of the strongest fortress, what chance would Rune-Midgard stand? And since ASS had been idling for way too long…

"Hmm… Prontera."

Invus looked at the wizard. Although he may be a little rude, but his impatience had explained how desperate they were. Sighing deeply, Invus nodded his head.


	50. The dawn of terror

-50-

_Suffering and death would take its toll on the Prontera forces very soon. The fate of Rune-Midgard is placed in their hands now… _

"I thank you for your timely help to –"

Tien was briefly interrupted by a clatter of footsteps. Someone was running towards them. The monk turned his head away from the commander of the Alberta blacksmiths. A scout from Prontera spoke nervously as sweat beads slipped over his cheeks endlessly.

"The city of Prontera requests for an alliance with Payon. An army of orcs led by the Lord of Death draws closer to Prontera as of this moment."

It did not take long for this news to register. Tien stared at the ground while his mind churned. Then, Pay laid a hand on his shoulders, jerking him out of his reverie as if something had dawned on him.

"Don't think about it, Tien, you're in need of medical treatment."

"We could bring him there for some. It would be a miracle if we found one among these ruins," a blonde huntress went beside Pay.

The scout was kept waiting for a while. Thinking that they had forgotten about his presence, he wanted to repeat his question. However, he could not help but scan the damages Payon suffered. Straw and hay made up part of the decimated city, stones and collapsed houses filling up the rest. It was almost an hour after dawn, and the orcs did not delay their pace. Under the Lord of Death, they were not anymore the gullible and foolish creatures as it was in people's impression.

"Lord of Death huh," the blacksmith commander started suddenly. "Can't the so-called invincible fortress of Rune-Midgard handle something as such? Oh they have their church too!"

The scout shook his head sadly.

"Not anymore. Previous assaults had crippled Prontera badly, and we have a shortage of militia. The only city willing to aid us is St Caprina."

"Crippled? How bad?" asked Pay.

The scout made a quick estimation, then replied.

"About a couple of hundred we have. That's too little arrayed against the orcs."

'Cerberus had stayed behind since the parting… it's been quite some time since then,' Pay thought.

Tien's body suddenly quivered. More blood flowed out of his mouth, but he could feel something pulsing in his body.

'I drank too much,' he thought.

"This is bad, we need to bring him to Prontera quickly," Pay hurried.

Tien nodded towards Pay reassuringly. Standing up, he faced the scout.

"We'll go… we'll go."

"All of us will," Elemire emphasized. That was partly said to call back the departing blacksmiths, but they just kept going.

"Any blue gemstone to spare?" Tien asked.

"You're not in the condition to even open a portal," Pay said.

"But we can't possibly walk there, right," Elemire countered. True, she made some sense. If they walked, the monk would have a relapse along the way. At least he could receive immediate treatment when he opened a portal.

"I'm sorry, I do not carry one," the scout said as he fumbled in his pockets.

"I was just sending off the injured," a deep voice rumbled, then a blue gemstone flew over to the monk. Tien caught the gemstone, and looked behind him.

"The first and last time. All of us will go," the blacksmith commander said with a grin.

In spite of the mask of blood, the beefy commander noticed the look of gratitude on Tien's face. The monk grasped the gemstone tightly as a shimmering light widened into a portal.

-

-

-

The hunters and the newly appointed spearmen flustered. Those down at the battleground were expected to be made full use of, and not scattered apart into confusion. Apparently the orcs had devised a way to extent the range of their catapults, for giant boulders ran over the fields and bowled over the army.

Many were lucky enough to escape, but still there few who were crushed to death. The tight formation was dispersed into a disorderly mess. It did not matter how well they could arrange themselves now, for their first priority was to dodge as many boulders as possible. About three to five boulders were released at once, causing damage to the gate and walls, not to mention, several more men. The hunters might as well be sitting ducks, since the orcs were not even in range.

The commanders thought quickly, yet they could come up with nothing sound. The launchers could not be put into use yet, unless the orcs met the army. Two more boulders barrelled across the Prontera forces, killing none fortunately. The army had wisely stepped out of the way after they figured out the launching pattern. Right now, they must devise some means to lure them within the range of Prontera's hunters.

Thankfully, the commanders had already dished out orders to retreat back into the confines of the city. Hunters and spearmen were to lay low, and they were forced to cling tightly onto the walls due to frequent tremors caused by the boulders. They did not have to be told, of course, unless they risked plummeting down to their death. The two warlords were the last to step within the gate, then it slammed shut.

Immediately after the closure of the west gate, a few more boulders crashed against the walls and one struck the gate. All thanks to the new security built by the constructors, the gate barely budged. It was going to take much more than one boulder to force it open. Because of the narrow walkway, the defenders took up new positions and the lines of them ran past even the fountain of Odin in the square. King Tristan, flanked by four of his personal guards, made one last look at the forces before entering the grand church. Several acolytes who were praying passed an irritated glance backwards at the interference, but it was immediately turned into one of deference.

Outside, another horn blared. The king held a hand up to stop the guards, and he strode slowly down the red-carpeted aisle to join the acolytes in their prayer. The four guards stood unmoving at the middle of the aisle, while King Tristan took a seat at the front bench. One acolyte stood before the king, muttering a blessing for him. Suddenly, a cry echoed the church. The four guards drew their swords out as something shimmering glowed brighter, and widened. A blue pillar stood erect as it formed, before three figures materialized. A female acolyte screamed as she saw a blood-covered apparition lying in pain, the four guards almost plunging their swords into it.

The portal disappeared after a hunter and a huntress stepped out. Acting on instinct, the hunter trained his bow on a guard, thinking that the church might be overrun by demons. When the guards found the trio harmless, they backed off. Although trained in the arts of healing, the acolytes looked away from the blood soaked man in revulse. King Tristan approached what appeared to be a monk, the guards warned him to stay away.

"For god's sake he can't do a damn thing now. He's out from a heavy loss of blood," the hunter, named Pay, told the guards. But that did little to convince them, for their swords were still brandished.

Elemire pleaded with a few acolytes to treat the bloodied monk immediately, even exaggerating his condition by introducing death. King Tristan motioned for the acolytes to come.

"Since this man came here, he may be of help in the battle. Acolytes! Give this monk proper treatment immediately!"

The acolytes obliged upon the king's command, trying their best to hide their disgust from the mask of blood. They were obviously novice acolytes judging by their behaviour. But, the king's order could not be defied. Kneeling around the monk, they chanted the basic incantation to healing spells. Sweat poured down from Tien's forehead as soothing green energies coursed through his body. Pay and Elemire looked at the operation with intensity and hope.

Too much blood had been lost, and the acolytes' efforts may yet be sufficient. For all they knew, he needed treatment from priests, the more experienced and skilful versions of acolytes. In such a time, the defenders could not even spare a priest, let alone for the sake of an insignificant monk.

As inexperienced as they were, the two archers hoped for the best. Things began to look pessimistic when an acolyte fell backwards as she fainted from the sapping of her energy, leaving the rest to double their efforts which would soon exhaust them. Tien groaned as his hands twitched, a sign that consciousness was returning to him. Elemire encouraged the acolytes to persevere, that only causing one to lose his concentration. The healing energy dwindled dramatically when more fell with fatigue, but the monk had yet to regain full conscious.

"If only we brought the kit…" Pay said with a deep frown.

Elemire laid a hand on his shoulder, and kept her look fixed on the moaning monk.

"There ain't any herbs left anyway. Awakenings won't do much except to worsen it."

King Tristan glanced disappointingly at the group of acolytes.

"Well?"

"They looked like they had expended all of their powers," one guard pointed out.

"The girl's one example," another added.

Shaking his head, King Tristan walked over to his personal body guards made up of two knights and two crusaders. Another cry startled everyone, this one at a much louder volume. Tien bolted upright, but he did not look fully recovered. His two companions looked worriedly at him, then ran over to help him up to a bench.

"I was about to order your burial, but your strong will proved me wrong," King Tristan remarked.

Tien held a dazed look, not at all hearing what others in the church said. Pay shook him, but the monk kept the same expression. Jerking his head around suddenly, Tien scanned the church, from the floor to the ceiling.

"What? What are you looking for?" asked Elemire.

Perhaps for once, no blood spilled out of Tien's mouth as he spoke.

"I thought… I thought they were coming… the blacksmiths."

A look of realization filled the huntress's face.

"The portal could not admit a whole army! But they would do what they are supposed to do. They will come as promised."

Tien nodded his head in understanding. He then asked for water to clean his face.


	51. Debut of launchers

-51-

The motive of their retreat had been fulfilled. The orcs had ceased their boulder-hurling tactic, and began marching closer when a horn rang. War cries erupted among the invaders, the beating of war drums providing a rhythm for it. Hunters and spearmen readied their bows and javelins respectively. The orcs were almost within range now…

The Prontera forces had made a smart move. Not only did they draw the orcs within range of those manning the walls, but fighting in their premises proved to be an advantage as the green beasts would eventually suffer the wrath of the sacred powers, provided that the monks from St Caprina did not fail holding back northern assaults, if there happened to be. And of course, the two warlords could see the fruits of their labour finally.

Those atop the walls did not hold back their awe when the powerful frame of Lord of Death could be distinguished in the distant. Among the sea of greens loomed a mounted silver knight, so bright as though he was blanketed in a holy aura. When the first line of orcs came forward, they suddenly broke into a run. Those behind followed, heading straight for the shut gate. The hunters waited no more. They unleashed a double strafe as a kick-start, before the stronger and thicker javelins rained on them.

The hunters swore when no more than ten orcs fell. The invaders cleverly tightened their ranks, bringing their shields up to cover themselves as much as possible. Very soon, a wall of shields was formed as the orcs crouched low. The arrows either bounced off the wall of shields harmlessly, or became imbedded into it. A few javelins managed to fly through gaps in the shield wall not protected by a few careless orcs, striking them dead.

Smith Hammertop immediately hollered to a Fiendbane standing just outside the workshop.

"Load 'em up and launch at will!"

The ninja-like warrior in turn yelled down the basement, and those below quickly dumped bottles into a pumper, which sent it through the pipes and eventually out of the launchers. They watched in anticipation as the walls seemed to come to life. The orcs did not realize what was going on, when dozens of red and yellow bottles flew out of the walls. The red bottles burst into flame when in contact with the first orc, spreading rapidly to immediate neighbours. The yellow ones damaged the armour of the orcs, even searing their hide as acid splattered over them. The orcs flustered, and another volley of bottles were ejected.

"Dump every damn thing fast as if you're taking one yourself!" the Fiendbanes yelled underground.

The front orcs stopped hacking away at the gate. Now, they had the dousing of flames, or stripping of their armour to busy themselves with. They certainly did not have it coming, and they were not prepared against this. The Lord of Death did not appear at all affected by it. He merely watched the walls as more bottles caused much confusion at the forefront. A considerable number of them writhed painfully on the ground as the fire consumed them whole. The acid bottles had made them vulnerable by reducing their armour to a shrunken piece of metal.

The bottle frenzy ended abruptly. Apparently their supply of the bottles had depleted, and Death wasted no time urging his forces to break open the gate. Making good use of the opportunity that the shield wall had been cancelled by the bottles, more orcs were felled from a barrage of arrows and javelins. The battle would in favour of Prontera until the orcs breached the west gate. The men inside the city yelled as more death cries from the orcs rang out clear.

"Fools… by the time the gate are opened, we would have lost gloriously!" Lord of Death roared.

The silver knight at the back pooled aside several groups of orcs in his way as he rode forward. Raising his head high, Death held up his large shimmering lance. He took an aim –and hurled the lance across the orc army. The orcs ducked involuntarily when it whizzed past their head, an unknown wave of power made them cower.

Death was truly a force to be reckoned with. The orcs had expected the lance to strike open the firmly secured gate, but results clearly sent them marvelling in awe. The lance went through the spot slightly above the gate, and it _disintegrated_ into millions of wood chips. The walls cracked and shook violently, sending most of the hunters and spearmen falling down the falls, their cries startling the Prontera forces.

The lance finally stopped its charge as it planted itself into the ground right before the defenders. A blast rocked the ground, and those at the front died instantly. A shockwave followed, reeling a great number of men flying backwards.

"Why are ya stoppin'!? Throw 'em all!" Smith yelled to a Fiendbane.

The warrior shook his head.

"Ran out of it."

With the gate totally ripped apart by the lance, the orcs swarmed into Prontera, but they faltered suddenly. The sentient powers of the grand church began to take effect, crippling them to very limited capabilities. The defenders recovered quickly to meet the charge, the foot soldiers making up the vanguard swinging their swords over the green beasts. Orc blood spurted madly as the invaders fought to counter their foes. They hoped that their higher ranking comrades, the blue skinned high orcs, would crush the church as soon as possible.

A boulder flew over the walls and down onto the defenders. A few were smashed under it, and it almost killed a nearby Larzen. Muttering a prayer to Odin, the warlord slashed at an oncoming orc warrior.

Commanders shouted for the mounted knights to provide support. Prontera's own monks took down the orcs with several chains of martial arts, however, they have yet to master the fatal move, the Asura Strike. Only a couple of them managed a successful one, eliminating groups of orcs instantaneously. Not even a trace of their corpse remained behind.

Orc marksmen slew what few remained of those atop the walls. This unwelcoming sight brought despair on many. At this rate, Prontera would be finished despite their church. The orcs fought with all their might in spite of their disadvantage, revealing no compunction in their onslaught. The defenders did not let the powers of the church go to waste, battling away the orcs furiously. They even accepted death, for making full use of the sacred powers was necessary.

A couple of high orcs outside at the Prontera fields launched another boulder. The other catapults were moved by other high orcs to the north-eastern fields outside Prontera, where they hoped to destroy the grand church. The defenders stepped aside, making a path for the boulder to roll past them. Nobody was injured from this round, but that gave the orcs some time to steal attacks on them. Knowing that the next boulder would not come too soon after the recent round, Larzen shouted an order to the commander of the riders.

"Get in line, and run them down!"

The mounted knights stood abreast, the others quickly making way for them. The commander riding at the forefront gave a roar, and they reined their Pecopecos forward. The giant birds crashed right into the orcs, a few knights commanding their steed to trample on the beasts. All except the commander was uninjured. During the charge, an orc had stuck out his sword, grazing the commander's shoulder. The rider would have fell if he did not hung on to dear life. The knights cheered briefly as the orcs were killed by the stampede. However, they were still pushed backwards, the orcs gaining more ground.

The Lord of Death was not at all pleased at his troop's performance. Ordering more launching of the boulders in his frustrations, Death watch indifferently as the last few lines of orcs swarmed past the broken gate. Perhaps he was too caught up in the invasion, or perhaps he was eager for a speedy victory. From afar, a young teenager wearing a tattered tabard glared balefully at the silver knight, scrutinizing him until he was ready.


	52. Tables turned

-52-

Cerberus swung hard with his right arm, the Ice Falchion cleanly lopping off an orc warrior's head. The orcs were foolishly led closer and closer into the Prontera south gate, thinking that they had gained the upper hand.

It was Cerberus and his platoon of knights who had the last laugh. The moment the orcs stepped through the opened gate, navy figures leaped out of nowhere to puncture the chest of the unsuspecting orcs with thin blades known as Muramasa. Together with the Fiendbane Enforcer's ambush came a rain of elemental bolts from Cerberus's two swords. At least a quarter of the entire south gate invaders perished horribly.

The ninja warriors slipped away from the orcs' attacks nimbly, countering it with a stab to the chest. The knights impaled close orcs with their spears as Cerberus took control over the situation. The knight leader of Avenger wielded his two swords with ease, as if the weight of it was taken away. Orcish weapons were knocked off by the Ice Falchion, while the Firebrand handed out the death sentence. Besides the combination, magical bolts shot out occasionally to either sear the green skinned beasts or immobilize them with a frozen status.

Piffy made use of a fluid approach, hurling colourful yet dangerous bottles in the head of the orcs. The results varied, but the more common ones were an eruption of fire and destruction of the orcs's armour. When he had enough fun with the bottles, the alchemist brandished his buster axe in time to demonstrate its power to an approaching orc. The orc's head was cleaved into two with black ichor splashing over his face. He did not bother to wipe everything off, and cleared those affecting his sight. What amused and baffled him was that, the orcs who came near him quickly kept a distance from him. Since he would not be harmed temporarily, due to his face, he gave it some thought.

Thinking that the orcs treated him like some sort of apparition with black facial features, he tested his assumption by waving his buster axe over his head and howled in a haunting manner. He hunched as he walked towards an orc, who dropped his sword to make a run for the south gate. Piffy laughed as his theory was proven correct, and he saw two orcs cornering a heavily wounded knight. The alchemist ran, and stopped when he was right behind them. He snuck up to the two beasts, giving his best howl. The two orcs jumped in surprise, then it became a total shock when they saw his face. To show that he was not some harmless doll, Piffy slammed his buster against one of their head. The orc fell dead, while the other staggered backwards, before escaping off the gate.

Cerberus's phalanx of knights and the Fiendbanes were down with one last score of orcs. More than ten knights had already been killed, but Cerberus pushed the rest on nonetheless. The knight's voice was hoarse from all the order shouting, but he still gave one last battle cry. The Fiendbanes made the first move –and javelins struck them. They were caught unexpected as this last score quickly switched to spears, killing at least half of the band.

"What in hades…" Cerberus muttered in horror.

He had no time to grieve over the tragic loss. A last volley came at them, since each of these orcs carried a couple of javelins. A few more knights were unable to evade them, and the small troop was further decreased. Suddenly, a howl caused the orcs to look over to a pillar. A hunched figure with its face painted black howled again, making the orcs falter in their next move. The figure pretended to conjure a fatal curse by uttering fast and incomprehensible incantations, pointing an axe to the score of orcs.

When the soft chants ended with an abrupt roar, the orcs expected something abominable to descend on them. They made a motion to their comrades to leave, and they obliged. The south gate was made silent again following the orcs' escape, but the mood was rather sombre. Many dead lay in a bloody mess with spears jutting out of their carcass, or with a deep gash across their chest. Cerberus did not celebrate their victory, instead, he knelt onto the ground.

Piffy wiped the black ichor off his face and went over to the devastated knight.

"Somebody has to die. At the very least we didn't suffer a rout, lad."

"I have failed as a leader once again. The orcs had been defeated, but I have defeated myself. The Fiendbanes shouldn't have died… they were a rare talent," Cerberus said sadly.

"We have much to do," Piffy responded with a sense of urgency. "The west needs us."

The alchemist waved to the Fiendbanes who were alive. He then patted the knight's shoulder.

"Come on, we can't abandon them to fight by themselves. We'll give these honourable warriors a proper burial after the battle, if we triumph, that is. But they will still live in our memory."

Cerberus sheathed his two swords, then wiped tears away from his eyes. Nodding to his friend appreciatively, he complimented Piffy on his efforts. They turned from the south gate –and a refreshed roar sounded from behind. It did not exactly sound like a roar, but more of a loud gurgle. The group turned back again to see hundreds of dark orcs, instead of the greens. They were orc zombies, together with the previous score of orc warriors.

Piffy was the only one who did not look at all intimidated by the fresh troop of undead. The alchemist's gaze darted over the ground, while the rest knelt in resignation. Snapping his fingers, he held up a rather heavy orc carcass.

-

-

-

It seemed like Prontera had an endless stream of scouts around the world. Just before they came, a scout warned them of Lord of Death's invasion back in Payon. And now, a scout dashed into the church in panic. Tien and his two archer companions were already used to such an expression, for every one scout wore it be it relaying dire news or not.

"What now?" the monk put the bottle of water away as he spoke.

The scout did not reply immediately. Seeing the king, he knelt in respect, then saluted.

"Report," said King Tristan III.

With his head still bent low, the scout kept it short and precise.

"St Caprina had been decimated! Our north gate are now free for intrude!"

The four guards of King Tristan III talked heatedly among themselves, passing a glance at the scout occasionally. The news took a while to register with the king, for he was struggling to deny it. Heaving a deep sigh, he placed his thumb and index finger on his temples and massaged them absently.

"Everyone is… dead? How… who…"

The scout too was desperate. Swallowing hard, he continued rather reluctantly.

"I saw… saw…"

"You saw what?" the king pursued impatiently.

Tien took another gulp of water. Ignoring protocol, the monk stood up and walked over to the king without any form of greeting.

"Let him speak. We wouldn't be able to prevent the inevitable anyway. Let him speak."

The four guards wanted to comment on the monk's impudence, but a sudden tremor shook the very foundation of the church. The peaceful atmosphere that always prevailed became one of tension, causing much indecision and dread. No priests or acolytes were present anymore, since all were presented to the battleground. Those who had healed Tien retired back to their respective chambers for ample rest. A dead silence settled over those in the church, intrigued by the quake.

"I saw many behemoths… too many of them," the scout started after a pause.

"What behemoths? Pay asked.

"Majorous, with an army of Minorous."

Pay stared in disbelieve, then grabbed his Arbalest.

"Where are you going?" Elemire started after him.

The hunter did not bother responding as he strode down the aisle towards the exit. Another scout knocked into him as he came in, this one with a look more intense than the last. Pay snapped, but the scout had drowned out the hunter with his fast speech.

"Danger! Orcs trying to crush the church with rocks!"

All the more Pay had to leave. The hunter summoned his falcon by stretching out his arm, and he muttered something to it. The falcon flapped its wings and squawked loudly, before hovering into the air. Pay watched till his falcon flew out sight to the east, then headed to the north gate. Not too far away from him, the battle of the west gate raged on, the sounds of it drawing the hunter to a stop.

'I can't stop the Majorous alone,' Pay thought as he started to turn backwards.

"What do you hope to achieve other than death?" a feminine voice said. "Only a god could have stopped this nonsense alone!"

Pay jerked his head back to see Elemire approaching him. Unlike the huntress's usual personality, she held a grim look all these while. In his impulse, Pay intended to sneak a few arrows into the Majorous, though he has not the slightest idea why would these minotaurs start an invasion over Prontera. It was not as though the city held a grand treasure, except for the sacred powers of the church it possessed. The sacred powers…

"They might be under the Lord of Death too," Pay told the huntress, pointing a finger to the north. "All these unexplained and sudden hostility are probably attempts by him to destroy the church."

"If you must go, I will go too," said Elemire.

Pay raised a brow. He could not tell if she made that statement fully out of duty to free Prontera from such monstrosities, or something else beyond that. Since these were troubled times, and nobody would be unoccupied with the battle, he assumed it to be the former.

"If we could hurry to the west and warn them about the attack directly on the church, maybe they would do something about it. Two person can't do shakes!" Elemire continued.

Nodding to the huntress, Pay hoped that the Minorous army led by Majorous would be rather slow-paced considering their poor efficiency. But, he was terribly wrong. By assuming that they had an allowance of time, the last scout who came into the church might as well head back home for a long sleep, for the hunter had left too soon to hear the rest of his speech. The speech which mentioned about the Abyss Knight leading the minotaurs. And under a superior's lead, even snail-paced porings could have speed up at least two fold.

"Maybe we don't have to, after all," Pay suddenly announced.

The hunter managed a smile as he pointed to the east. Although the walls and the closed gate had obstructed their vision, they heard a familiar war cry. The voice was as if they heard it only a while ago, yet somehow it sounded like they heard it a long time ago. Elemire's face lit up as realization came over her.

"Alberta! The blacksmiths has come!"

The two saw a few more boulders flying over the walls, and onto the church before the intermittent launching ended momentarily. Apparently, the blacksmiths had engaged a battle with the catapult operating high orcs.

"Things are not looking pretty," Pay commented when he noticed the Prontera forces pulling back further into the square. The back lines had already exceeded far past the fountain.

With the coming of the blacksmiths, the two let the worries on the attack of the church fade away. By the time they reached the priests stationed at the rear, who were exhausting themselves curing the injured, they saw the orcs advancing quickly. Pay signalled to his huntress partner. The two separated, each finding themselves a suitable vantage point to snipe the beasts. It seemed like the sacred powers were not completely successful in the defence against the invaders.

But, the standard that was raised high together with the stalwart appearance of the two warlords indicated that not all hope was lost. Nobody had noticed the arrows incapacitating the orcs slowly in the midst of their concentration. Pay took full advantage of the orcs' weakness more than anyone else. He strung two arrows at a time, sniping away at the orcs tirelessly. He wished he had the case of potions with him…

The orcs were baffled as to the source of arrows hitting them. The hunters had all fell to death earlier, and they were positive that none were alive. Oridecon-tipped arrows and silver bolts disabled the anonymous marksmen's targets. Never had once a single warrior let their guards down, including healers who sent a stream of green energy at an instant at any who received an injury. They had put everything on the line, now that Prontera was at stake.


	53. Dark essence

-53-

Darting over the fields littered with orc corpses, a boy could not believe his luck. The very first sword he picked up from a dead orc was one of the few left intact. Identifying it as a broadsword, he took a few test swings, and then glared after a silver being riding at the back of a large orc force.

The boy obviously targeted the great knight, but he did not do just that. His brownish tabard was stained with large blotches of black blood, as did his forehead and his boyish features. His gloved hands gripped the hilt of the broadsword tightly –and literally transported himself right into the fray.

The teenager swordsman looked insubstantial. If a person were standing in front of him, he might be able to see what's behind the translucent swordsman. To many, he was known as Doppelganger.

He vented his fury on the orcs. At least seven to nine orcs fell with a swing of the broadsword, while the rest of the green beasts stared after the impossible-to-be-followed swordsman in bewilderment. A swirl of grey shadows caused the orcs to mistake it for the genuine one. Before they could take a second chance to seek him out, the naked blade of the broadsword sliced across their neck.

"Doppel…" Lord of Death mumbled in surprise.

Doppelganger easily took down the orcs before him. His eyes now a blazing red, his fury augmented when he caught sight of the Lord of Death.

"For myself…"

The broadsword cleaved several more orcs dead. The Prontera defenders shared similar reaction as the orcs, a shock expression plastered hard over their face at the appearance of Doppelganger. The last time he was here, they did not forget how he slew their forces with an effortless swing of his blade. They were glad that the phantom swordsman was helping to even the odds, though he might be turning on them still. The best thing to do now, was to resume their battle without obvious slackening as though Doppelganger was not present.

"For my return…"

Doppelganger bowled into more orcs, kicking and slashing madly at the endless sea of them. Snarling, he drove the blade through two successive orcs. Death took no initiative to rid of the impudent swordsman; he merely looked calmly as the carnage he was causing. A very heavy one, considering a long trail of piled carcasses all the work of one single unit.

"And for the damnation of the Lord of Death!"

Slaying the last line of orcs barring him from Death, Doppelganger launched a case of ice at the knight superior.

"So you're still alive as I presumed…" Death rasped as the ice attack did not affect him at all.

The silver knight reined Silver forward, thrusting his ethereal lance forward in the middle of Doppelganger's chest. The swordsman's blade knocked the lance tip away, but the shaft quickly buried into his side. Doppelganger flew to his right from the force, crashing through a beam. The top shorn off portion of it clipped his forehead. But he merely leaped back to his feet. Nothing was going to stop the assassination of the Lord of Death…

"Of course I am, and this Trait business is over, knight," the swordsman said.

He hurled the two halves of the beam at the silver knight, but he might as well drink every single drop of water in the Byalan Dungeon. Lord of Death brought up his lance and the beams degenerated into dust. Doppelganger dashed and skidded right to a stop when he stood just mere inches away from Silver. He ducked below the steed, driving the broadsword through the armoured underside. Silver neighed madly and ran around in a frenzy. Death could not even calm the powerful warhorse down.

Doppelganger appeared behind Silver and scored a stab through Death's lower back. But the blade did not go deep, for the armour Death wore was too resilient. It caused a mere scratch along the back. Dismounting Silver in a swift move, Death drove the lance towards his foe's ribs, but it only tore the tabard.

"Despicable knight, forfeit!"

Doppelganger tried smashing his sword against the lance as a pretext to his plan. Death withdrew it fast enough as the blade struck the ground hard –and a booted foot slammed against his left arm. Pain coursed through the arm, but Death dismissed it. To the great silver knight, pain did not exist!

Doppelganger made a beeline for the silver steed. Death followed with lance readied, in case the swordsman laid an ambush. Silver was still running around aimlessly as blood spilled from the wound, the large mount even trampling a few orcs. Doppelganger took track of the moment, making quick estimations. When Death neared, he went down to tackle a hoof. Silver lost balance and as expected by Doppelganger to crash onto the knight, the steed went through a lance instead.

"Damn you, lowly swordsman!"

Jerking the lance free, Death drove himself on with the painful death of his steed. The lance managed to catch the swordsman on the shoulder, then the knight followed it up with a shaft to the gut. The force sent Doppelganger reeling backwards many feet, knocking down several orcs. It actually took more than ten sturdy orcs to break the inertia. Killing the orcs around him in the blink of an eye, the swordsman wiped off his blood to continue the confrontation.

-

-

-

When the army of orc zombies marched into the city, they met no resistance at all. Dead warriors dressed in ninja suit lay dead at their feet, the white ground smeared with trails of red. Many orc warriors stood still along the curb of the walkway, a dazed expression on their bestial face. But the foul zombies paid them no attention and trudged on lifelessly. They were employed by the Lord of Death at the eleventh hour to boost his forces, and their purpose served only to seek out and slay the humans, not appreciating sidewalk orcs.

A thud alerted several orc zombies. They were terribly careless to have overlooked the unusual behaviour of the orc warriors. A roar rang throughout the city and the orc warriors fell onto the ground, and a dozen defenders came at them from behind the dummies unexpectedly. Cerberus flicked his two swords, and a combination of fire and ice bolts pelted down onto the undead army.

"We're still unmatched! Their numbers are too great!" the knight shouted for his alchemist friend while battling off two orc zombies. It was already too late, for he realized the mistake of trusting Piffy's idea. No matter how great an idea now, the orc zombies would overwhelm them eventually. Death was certainly seeking amusement before taking its toll on the pathetic lot of them. A dozen men against an army of about a two hundred orcs? How worse could the joke get.

Cerberus took one last look at those fighting with him, especially Piffy, for he has not the chance to see them again. It was meaningless duelling when it spelled doom sooner or later. Cerberus was about to submit his fate to the dark orcs when a horn blared just outside the south gate. It did not sound anything like the horns of Prontera; it was more of… orcish fashion. The orc zombies were going to be joined by their reinforcements.

The orc warriors that were fighting alongside the zombies halted their undead brethrens. They listened as another note sounded, this time prolonged.

"Orc chief? Chief call for retreat? But we winning!" one orc shouted.

When the orcs started again, the horn blared again.

"Get back! Retreat to orc chief! Trouble outside!" the same orc shouted to the rest.

The orc zombies hesitated at first, some even turning back to the battle. But the life orc warriors hollered them back out, the entire army assembling at the fields. Cerberus and his band continued watching hopelessly as they saw a fully armoured figure, supposedly the chief, waved desperately for the orcs to exit Prontera. The orc army could not see even a tiny fragment of their chief's hide, for the armour pasted with an orc emblem hung loosely from his body. At his side hung an orcish sword, and his hand held an orcish horn.

"Danger from church, get back," a throaty, yet peculiar voice spoke. The orcs had their suspicions, but they would be seeking for themselves a high load of trouble if they had questioned the real chief. They dared not risk some punishment because of verification.

The orc army kept silent as they followed the chief into a woody region. Tall trees and thick scrubs came into view, and the chief seemed to have forgotten about their purpose in marching here.

"Chief, we must go back to attack!" an orc found wits to voice his thoughts.

Expecting a severe lecturing from him, the chief only led them deeper into the woods without so much as making a noise.

"Chief! South gate still near, we go back!" another broke the barrier of silence, questioning his chief without as much fear as before since the first received no harsh lectures. Unfortunately for him, the chief stopped and turned back.

"Quiet! We move!"

When the chief was done with his lectures, he raised the horn to his lips and blew at random. The orcs held a look of befuddlement, for they had never heard such a note before. A few more wanted to question the odd chief again –and the woods sprang into life. Dozens of assassins and rogues flipped out of their hiding spots, more of the agile figures slipping over the orcs without them noticing.

Katars and daggers whipped out, they worked cunningly at the orcs's vital points. The rather large band of saboteurs leaped and dodged nimbly, cutting their blades into vulnerable areas they discovered without much effort. The "chief" shrieked in fits of laughter as she removed the pieces of baggy armour, hurling them onto the ground. Those orcs who saw her gaped in shock as they have been had; their "chief" had been some red haired rogue all these while!

A black-robed figure stepped out calmly. Waving his Staff of Soul across the air, Sagizeulus electrocuted his adversaries when balls of electrical energy surged into the orc zombies. In their death, they made a gurgling noise, before their charred body collapsed with smoke drifting about. The necklace was revealed when it fell out of the robe, the two rings glowing brightly. The crystal ball atop the Staff of Soul gleamed with magical energy.

"Safe your efforts," Sagi said when he saw Manald prepare a spell. "Save it for the main force."

The priestess frowned as she stopped her chants abruptly.

"Set yourself as an example first."

"That… was just a couple of Jupiter Thunders. I can't be wasting too much of my spiritual powers with that," Sagi switched hands as he spoke in a composed manner.

Meanwhile, ASS looked unlikely to lose this battle. They had the fast-diminishing orc zombies surrounded, which facilitated the kill. Back at the south gate, Cerberus calmed himself, which he found it a difficult task. They did not understand this; first of all they were spared unconditionally, and second they saw the orcs leaving for good. They became out of sight ever since they entered a small woods just yards from the south gate.

"What…"

The knight let his sword clatter onto the ground as he stood up. An acute pain shot through his torso when he did. He let out a stifled cry, realizing that he had sustained a deep wound along his left rib that ended near his stomach. He was surprised that he did not feel any pain during the battle. The sudden pain forced him back down, and he began grunting in agony. Blood poured without stopping, and his heavy full plate was making breathing difficult. He fumbled for the straps, stripping the armour off him. He then felt a dead weight lifted off him.

"How ya feelin', lad?" Piffy sat beside him. The Fiendbanes alive too suffered no little injuries, but they gave Cerberus a salute as they knelt on one knee.

"No… no," the knight croaked. "I don't deserve that… no… I failed."

Obliging the knight's wishes, they supported each other as they sought medical help from priests.

The woods was left in a mess of torn plantations and blackish blood. The ASS, or rather Association of Sneaky Slayers, nodded their head in grim satisfaction as they surveyed their work. The orc zombies had been totally wiped out, and Maraulea leaped about with much enthusiasm, screaming "good training after rounds of beer!" When she was quieted, the rogue inspected for spoils among the pungent corpses. A hand grabbed her shoulders.

"So? Was it fun playing alongside with your former association?" It was Invus.

She yelped with excitement, and dragged the ASS "chairman" off to a corner to have a chat.

Now that she was back in Prontera, Manald did not forget about her intended visit to the church. Excusing herself, the priestess ran the rest of the way back to the south gate, leaving the celebrations and cheers behind her.

The first thing, or rather the first person she found was a bleeding knight half lying beside his stripped off armour. An alchemist kneeling beside the knight looked up when she neared, and both gave the same reaction. The two uttered each other's name at the same time. She was glad to see her guild mates again since the long parting, yet the mood of war forbid any further reunion celebration.

"Cerberus! Your side…" Manald exclaimed when her eyes swept over the wound.

"Hurry! Heal him!" said Piffy. "Doubt he can hold on much longer."

The priestess did not have to be told. She was already kneeling by the knight's side, muttering words to a healing spell. A greenish wave encompassed Cerberus, the wound slowly closing up. Piffy watched in awe, though he had seen it many a time.

"Still as good as always, huh."

The priestess managed a smile, and tended to the wound.

"Stay here, and unless you want it re-opened, don't get involved in the battle."

"Whatever you say," Cerberus responded with more vigor.

"I must be heading to the priests and the church. Later."

Gathering up her dress, Manald ran down the walkway, and to the square. The defenders, who were initially losing grounds to the orcs, suddenly pushed forward till they were no longer lined past the fountain. A superior had aided them tremendously by interfering in the battle, slaying a mass of orcs to even the odds. Encouraged by this, they fought with renewed hope. Even the Lord of Death was bothered with the untimely disturbance, and the Prontera forces did take note of the fact that the silver knight would wipe them out with a snap of his fingers albeit the counterattack. They had to kill off the orcs before the Lord of Death was done with Doppelganger.

Manald put off her participation in the battle seeing that they were doing just fine. Right now, the church was all that mattered. And somewhere in her mind though, she wondered the whereabouts of the assassin, Skull. He had stubbornly ventured off on his own, breaking off from them when they opened a portal to Morroc. Many dangers awaited him in the wilderness, the high officials under King Tristan III posing as the main threat.

The priestess stopped in the middle of the square, muttering a blessing for the troops. When she was done, Manald continued northwards to the church. Nothing amiss was seen or heard so far, except for distant raging of the battle. She turned to a path that led her to the right, where the church stood. She breathed a sigh of relieve at the sight of the undamaged church. However, she has yet to discover those caused the by rocks. Stones that broke off from the church structure littered the grounds outside.

She walked into the church. Dark clouds had gathered thickly outside, a drizzle coming down without so much a noise. The sour smell of rain was carried in the whistling wind that started blowing wildly. The church was lit dimly with small torches, and down the aisle sat a monk with his attire much more bloody than Cerberus. At the front bench sat King Tristan III himself, and four of his personal guards sat at a few rows behind him.

Manald walked quietly along the red carpet, seeing no acolytes or priests around. It was not surprising, since most of them were assigned to the battle. She could not resist her doubts any longer.

"What happened?"

Her voice rang out over the church, causing looks of alarm from the guards. The king slowly turned to see a priestess standing near the entrance. Nobody spoke, and the monk still sat against a bench without interest. The silence in the church spoke of trouble, as far as she could sense.

"Is the church going to be attacked?" she asked. Again, no answer came. The guards had turned away from her. Initially she did not recognize the monk, for he had his back turned to her all the while. But after he stood up and faced her, a gasp escaped her throat.

"Tien…" she muttered.

The brown tunic which looked more like an unbuttoned jacket flew open each time a wind blew. The well muscled monk strode towards her, each step making her want to take a step back. His clenching fists and his scarred cheek could make someone think twice about provoking him. Manald prepared a holy light spell, expecting the monk to take her out. Fortunately for her, Tien stopped a few feet away from her.

"You fear me…"

"What are you waiting for? Just take on me if that's what you wish!" Manald cried, once again drawing gazes from the king and his guards.

Tien walked closer to her.

"Make no mistake about it, priestess, we have something much, much important to fight. If I wanted, I would deal with you after this battle. Take out our common foe, that's first."

The words to a spell died on her lips. She was pleasantly surprised to hear such words from Tien, the unfeeling leader of the Overlords. But right now, she guessed that the guild business in Prontera would be called off on a large scale, as the king said.

"Right… we shall fight the common foe. But can you at least tell me about the condition…"

"Orcs had been throwing rocks at the church from outside. Obviously their purpose was to rid of the sacred powers protecting the city," Tien explained, looking at her with those eyes that would make someone extract his gaze. An intense expression was adhered to Manald when the monk mentioned about the attempt to damage the church. "But now it had stopped. I'm thinking Pay and Elemire got themselves a bunch of men to stop the catapults."

"Pay? He's here?"

"He came with me."

"What happened to the rest of your guild?"

"Dead…" Tien spoke in a flat tone.

Although there was no need to be polite or kind to this man, she felt sorry for him. She wanted to ask more, but decided that she would do it when the monk felt better. The death of his guild had gave him a blow.

"I'm sorry –"

"No."

Tien strode past her and walked out of the church. A grunt suddenly came, then Tien's body flew backwards, landing on his back roughly. A trail of blood trickled down his lips.

"What happened!?" the priestess screamed.

The four guards immediately ran over to flank the king. King Tristan III stood up in time to see a large black figure step in. Outside the church, something smashed against the church loudly. Cracks began to form on the walls, while stones chipped off. The black figure advanced, walking past Manald. He held a extraordinarily long black sword, and loud thuds sounded with each footstep. He glanced down at the monk.

"The end is near…"

"Abyss Knight," Tien uttered painfully. "What do you want!?"

"It is obvious, isn't it?" the ebony knight said as he raised his sword over the monk's body.

"Help him! What are you waiting for?" King Tristan III gestured to the monk.

The four guards sworn to protect the king, but leaving him to save a monk made them uneasy. But a severe glare spurred them into action. The four guards, with swords out, charged for the black knight. The loud thuds against the church continued ceaselessly, and more stones flew. They knew the church was under attack.

"Do you seriously think your legion of ten-zeny brained bulls could tear down the church just like that?" Tien shouted defiantly to the Abyss Knight. In fact, he was trying to buy time for the priestess. The priestess murmuring sophisticated words to a devastating spell…

The four guards leaped onto the knight, only to be thrown far back by a dark wave. Muttering "fools" under his breath, Abyss turned to see Manald chanting furiously. Tien knew the priestess had no time to complete the spell now. In one move, she would die. Abyss strode purposefully towards her, as though he knew the exact time that was going to be taken for the completion of the spell.

The four guards stood up again. Abyss waited till the four was within range, then he suddenly spun to deliver a devastating slash that left two of the four dead. The fear-stricken priestess began to falter in her chants, but she saw the promising look from Tien. The monk knew he was definitely in no condition to fight the knight. Being a superior Abyss was, Tien guessed that he did not stand one chance even if he was in the best shape.

A quick estimation told Abyss that a Magnus Exorcimus was going to be cast very soon. He took out the other two easily, and made a charge for the priestess. The pounding on the church intensified, as did the chants. A blue sphere smacked Abyss in the back of his head, stopping his charge briefly.

"This church will perish! I will rule!" Abyss roared.

Tien summoned another spirit sphere, hurling it at the black knight. Abyss stumbled.

"I shall rid of all you pests when I'm done with her!"

Abyss ignored the spheres thrown at him. Resuming the charge, Abyss's extended sword was only a few feet away from Manald. Only a few more syllabuses to go…

The tip of the black sword barely touched the priestess –and a white explosion blasted Abyss far back. The black knight crashed through several benches, a loud roar of agony resounding throughout the holy structure. The Magnus Exorcimus demanded too much from the priestess. She fell onto some broken stones, scraping her skin at several places. Her face was drenched in sweat, and her damp dress clung onto her uncomfortably. She heard more shouts, but oblivion stole over her. Everything seemed to black out.

The explosion had vibrated the entire church. Even the poundings stopped outside. King Tristan III, well aware that his life would be jeopardized if he did not make himself scarce, retreated into an unused chamber in the midst of the confusion. He could not escape straight through the entrance either, for the minotaurs would pulverize him with their hammers as soon as he made the exit.

Tien struggled to stand up. He saw the priestess lying against a bench with half her conscious gone from the spell even in the smoke. The holy blast had left several properties shattered, and a mist formed.

"Priestess!"

Tien scooped the priestess up and made a run for one of the chambers to hide her. The Abyss Knight had long recovered, unfortunately, the superior sneering to himself when he saw the persistent monk. He crossed the pile of broken wood benches, stalking the monk as he carried the priestess off the main hall. Abyss pointed a finger at him, and an invisible force flung Tien into a wall. Dust bits rained off the walls as the monk lost his grip on Manald, and he tumbled.

Abyss laughed briefly. Leaning down, he grabbed a fistful of Tien's jacket, and pulled him to a standing position.

"Tien… I give you an alternative. Personally, I think it is just damn good sounding."

Tien looked at the knight through the slits of his eyes. He did not put up any form of resistance, and he waited for the knight to continue the explanation of the "alternative".

"You fight well, monk. I shall spare you, but you will fight for me," Abyss offered. He did not wait for the monk to give the yes. Pointing the tip of his black sword at Tien's forehead, Abyss sent a flow of dark energy into him. Tien's eyes opened wide, then his body twitched spasmodically. He screamed until the flow ceased. Tien thought he was dead since he felt no pain. Surprisingly, he was full of vitality again. He was back in his best shape.

Tien's orbs now glinted with a purplish glow, his frame surrounded by red electricity. There was something different about his critical state. His skin would normally turn scarlet, but this time it was… greenish. The Kaiser Knuckles and his fists swelled with power as always. The monk now looked at Abyss in a different light. Something made him kneel before Abyss, making his head bend low. And something made him pledge his servitude to the ebony knight.


	54. Showdown: Doppelganger vs LOD II

(A/N): Yo, yo, YO! The Phenom's back from a good ol' 5 month hiatus, and boy am I great to be back with an impact. Just to let you know, I'ma take this holiday to finish up this entire story, and I will be changing names of some characters from 55 onwards. So, now, sit back in yer chair, chill, sip some fragrant caffein, and watch 54 unfold. WOOOW!

-54-

The blazing crevice hurled Doppelganger up into the air, and down a group of orcs he fell through. Startled, the orcs picked themselves up groggily, only to be impaled by a broadsword. The phantom swordsman was further wrecked apart by a hard slug across his face, his head almost flying off his shoulders. Defying the pain, Doppelganger grunted as he stood up once again.

The Lord of Death dominated the fight. Blinded by greed, the silver knight had blithely wiped out innocent victims of his conquest, using his Strength Trait to the full extent. His raw power had destroyed countless lives, and now the next in line was Doppelganger. With the creation of his new lance, Death felt invincible. Nothing had stopped him in his invasion over Prontera, and nothing will. His new found abilities granted him nothing but the madness to transgress the "pact".

"Show me your Trait, swordsman. After I get a hold over it, you shall witness the true ruler of Rune-Midgard!"

Death slammed his lance into the ground, sending waves of tremors over to Doppelganger. A mouthful of demonic blood flew out of the swordsman's mouth. His strength was waning from the Lord of Death's stream of potent advances. Doppelganger pondered about his likely defeat. Where was the Doppelganger who used to fight fluidly without faults? Where was the Doppelganger whom no one could outpace?

'The exploitation of my Trait was not carried out in full,' Doppelganger clenched his teeth together as he thought.

Images began to flash across his mind as he bundled up every iota of his strength. Vivid flashes of the Orc Hero's assassination and several other of his adventures before the invocation of the four darted about in his brains, his willpower building up slowly for some reason.

'You've driven me to a corner. No more a second… no more…'

Doppelganger without so much as to make a noise as he heaved a couple of orc corpses, hurling it at the silver knight. He felt a nothingness inside him except for the sole objective of bringing the transgressor to justice. He felt numbed all over. The phantom swordsman watched the tall Death with distaste. The moment the silver knight banished him down the crater in the Orc Dungeon, a multitude of voices haunted him every single moment for his audacity to be in cahoots with the three other transgressors to hunt down the Traits. Some were harsh, while some were feminine. In his delirium, he barely made out the voices of formidable superiors like Dark Lord, Baphomet and others like Moonlight Flower, Turtle General and Eddga.

And sure enough, the persistent voices snapped him from his madness for an addition to his powers. Everyday, he was tortured mentally despite the abortion. The mental torment only subsided gradually when he calmed himself enough to get out of the damned hole. A breach in the death pact was something that he did not want to undergo. He knew very well how dire the consequences could be. Although he was "brainwashed", Doppelganger supposed that he would not be granted any lighter sentence. Remembering the other three of his ex-accomplices, he presumed that only death answered their insanity.

By the time Doppelganger crawled out, he expected heavy securities that would enclose him in the Orc Dungeon permanently. On the contrary, it stood empty, including the camp and fields. Only a few orc smiths hammered away at their works, but they were quickly slain. In the distant, he heard the intermitten blare of horns. Orcish horns. He did not have to give any more thought, and followed the sound of the horns into Prontera. Only then he launched an impromptu attack on Death, at the same time the orc forces decreased dramatically after his appearance.

Wielding a lance now did not mean that the devastating shockwave would not be created. Doppelganger watched Death carefully, anticipating the knight's attempt to expend his powers on it. The possibility of it was low, considering that his very own orcs would be expunged as well. Even if the puny humans and the orcs were to perish all at once, and assuming that Doppelganger failed to survive, he was well aware of the other superiors eyeing him tightly. Yes, the importance of the pact was becoming more insignificant each passing day without him even realizing it.

Death swung the lance across, ripping off another portion of the swordsman's bloody tabard, revealing his grey diaphanous chest. But the wounds were still conspicuous. Clearing another orc in his way, Doppelganger brought his sword up to parry the next blow, but once again the Strength Trait help accomplished what Death was incapable of formerly. The force sent Doppelganger crashing into a street sign nonetheless, snapping it into half upon contact.

Death came again. Kicking away the broken pole, the silver knight pointed the lance down to the heart and lashed out at it. Doppelganger rolled out of the way, the tip of the powerful lance creating a nasty crack on the ground. The swordsman tried cleaving the lance –and the blade of his broadsword quivered with a ringing sound of metal. Before he knew, he was made defenceless as the blade shattered like glass all over, mingling with other pile of debris. He looked in disbelieve at his hand that was still gripping the hilt tight, then arched his head up to meet Death's mocking gaze.

A force sent him sprawling flat with back faced up. An orc had snuck up behind him to deliver a kick on the spine. The same orc grabbed a large fistful of his blonde hair, then spat on his face. The yellowish goo ran down his face slowly. Death waved the orc away to the subsiding battle, with the defenders an edge over the invaders.

"You had two chances to live, yet you still chose to live your life on the edge. You chose to defeat the Great One, which many could even think about defying me, let alone opposing me," Death gave his last words, lance raised high over Doppelganger's head.

Doppelganger's eyes still held a look of defiance. Then, suddenly, he burst into a fit of laughter. Death's orbs narrowed when it stopped.

"What is so funny?"

"You fool," Doppelganger fought the pain to speak. "It is meaningless… you will fall sooner or later. You cannot be pardoned, nor can you hide. Face it, Lord of Death."

The dark skies rumbled at random intervals, and the drizzle grew into a downpour that slashed down on the defenders and everyone else. The rainwater cleaned the blood off Doppelganger's face, but the black blotches of his blood stayed stubbornly. Before he confronted Death, he knew he was pretty much over. It was suicidal, but the pact and the voices would return to torment him if he had ran off. The option was rather obvious; death could very well be the redemption he hoped for, yet he might not depending on the situation. Whether or not, at least this was far better off than being eternally damned.

"Why not? You are just the person I need to achieve myself as the superior of superiors. With the two prominent Traits, I am unstoppable, lowly swordsman. Do you truly think your little preaching before your death would turn me around, huh? Consider it –"

The broken half of the pole slammed against his thigh and further shattered into bits. Death buckled slightly from the unexpected attack, and Doppelganger took the opportunity to throw his weight to the knee. His shoulders slammed slightly above the knee cap, causing Death to fall on a knee. A quick boot to the face had the silver knight lying on his back, the lower part of the helm dangling loosely. His sight was affected as the slit on it was jerked into an inappropriate position.

However, before he could carry out any rectifications, the other half of the broken pole went into the slit. Death screamed as it pierced his cheeks near the temples, blood gushing out rapidly from it. In instinct, he drove a leg into Doppelganger's side and a resounding crash sounded after a moment. A loud groan escaped Doppelganger's mouth, while he bent his arm backwards to rub his back.

The rain grew heavier. Large drops of rain hammered onto the host, the shouts still sounding clear in the tempest. Streaks of lightning flashed across the dark skies before a rumble came shortly after. But there seemed to be more thunderous booms than rumbles, as if the higher powers witnessing the battle expressed their scorn.

"This is the moment…"

Death stood up. He shot the lance upwards to the sky, and a deafening blast of thunder sounded. Streaks of electricity circled around the tip, slowly down the shaft. Doppelganger was forced to watch in awe in spite of the strain in his neck. Even if it meant death, he had to stop Death's madness. In the knight's madness, nothing but calamity would befall Prontera. The remaining orc forces included. Feeling that this was a déjà vu, Doppelganger picked a few chunks of rock, sent it hurtling to the lance. The rocks hit the lance and disintegrated into dust, but he could see the steady circulation of the electricity faltering.

Death glared at the interference. The phantom swordsman did not panic, for he knew that a move by the silver knight would disrupt the procession of the spell. A few more rocks struck the lance, the electricity suddenly sizzling madly. A blue light flared from the tip as Death roared. Thunder blasted with all its might in the sky, as did those from the ethereal lance. Thick streaks of white lightning danced around at random, charring bodies after bodies. Thunderous explosions erupted at random, and more rocks began raining down together with the slashing rain.

The boom of thunder in the sky was too much to take it. Some with eardrums shattered, the defenders dropped their weapons to shut their ears from further damage. The orcs, too, let their swords and axes fall to the ground, the clatter of metal drowned out by the explosions and the fierce storm. Gale blew the rain into different directions, ruffling the cloaks worn. Chaos was ensued; buildings collapsed in a heap, while the ground itself cracked and the tremors began splitting it apart.

From the gaps more currencies exploded, sending many to their deaths. It looked as though the thunder came down from the heavens itself when more streaks of white lightning branched off in all directions, leaving few survivors in its wake. A few more rounds followed, and the death moans were silenced. Now, only the heavy pattering of rain and wrath of the thunderstorm claimed domination.

Although there was no one left alive, the incredibly humongous streaks of whites, measuring about three orc warriors standing abreast in width, materialized every now and then, running off into different areas of the city. Buildings that were not collapsed were charred, though few still did other than the church. Oddly enough, the church was the only structure unaffected by the phenomenon.

Death breathed loudly. His body was wrecked with spasms, his massive frame jolting violently. When he tried touching the lance, an invisible force had him retracting his hands back involuntarily. And every time he withdrew his hands, he would start wheezing for breath. He looked around the blurred city. No sign of his foe was found. But that was not his purpose now. He tried to comprehend this unusual thunderstorm, but answers eluded him. His armour was shorn off at several places, the rest of the plate left smoking from the white lightning frenzy.

The world of Rune-Midgard was bathed in brightness when a flash of lightning came across the sky. Black bodies, black disembodied limbs and black stones from buildings layered the city. Every participant in the battle was left dead, humans and orcs alike.

"The Trait… Doppel…"

Death sought the swordsman again after he remembered the Agility Trait. Since it was already useless retrieving it, Death abandoned the lance to continue the search. But it was short-lived though, when a cone of fire blasted against his back. Death roared as he spun around, and his orbs flared. Baring his teeth to show his disdain, Death strode closer to the skeletal abomination before him.

Streams of fire rose from the cracks when he moved, searing his body beyond measure. Death finally fell at the newcomer's feet, the silver knight out cold from the powerful sorcery. A skeletal figure with a fluttering black cape hovered over the knight. The high collars covered his bony neck, a logo embroidered at the back of the cape shimmering as if to warn him of something. Those empty sockets were directed at the still form at his feet.

Death stirred, raising his head to meet empty sockets. His lips curled into a snarl, the knight very much wanted to crush this undead mage here…

"Dark Lord… Dark Lord… you cursed biteme…"

"Yes, it shall be done this way. You shall call my name in agony even in death, even if your soul was banished into the dark layers of the abyss. Because I will have the privilege of doing so. Remember my name, knight. Remember me, Dark Lord, the one who stopped your madness."

Death's mouth was opened wide in a silent scream as the earlier streaks of whites surged through his massive frame. The armour shrivelled and shrunk, and a cone of faint light was disgorged from his mouth. His muscles rippled, but not in the impressive manner it always did. The arms began reducing in terms of size, pieces of armour falling off his body. Black blood spurted from open wounds found almost everywhere, even burns by Dark Lord's magic. The veins on the biceps disappeared, as did the bulges from the Trait when he first seized hold of it. The faint cone faded as soon as Death's eyes were shut. The Strength Trait had been purged.

"To think you had become the first of the death pact…" Dark Lord muttered without the slightest hint of compassion. The mage watched till the last of Death's life force drain away from him, before waving his hands to summon a portal. The fiery trails of Dark Lord stopped abruptly as he vanished into the portal.


	55. The defeated

(A/N): As stated in the first page, I've decided to change the names of a few characters. Sorry for any confusion and inconvenience, but refer to the first page, also the character page, to clarify any doubts. But I am posting the new names mentioned in the chapters to facilitate reading, so it won't be so troublesome as to refer to the first page every now and then.

New names mentioned in the following chapter:-

Mariane (was Manald)  
Koju (was Immuonnas a.k.a Skull)

-55-

With the death of the four personal bodyguards of King Tristan III, the only one left to be eliminated was the priestess. Tien, now turned into a ghoulish state, narrowed his eyes when his sweeping gaze caught hold of Mariane. She was huddled in the corner of the church, behind a tall pile of broken wood, staring unblinkingly at the transition. That was the last thing she expected.

For the past few moments the priestess had no choice but to trust the only "anti-invaders", Tien. She was hoping that he could somehow alleviate this madness in this church that had already claimed four lives. But now, the tables were turned onto her. Her hopes were made slimmer than the breadth of a human hair. How quick it was for the sudden change of events, yet so little time for her to deny the foul Abyss Knight of his apocalyptic goals. The man she had come to rely on was now nothing more than another minion fighting for the ebony knight's cause.

The pounding of the minotaurs' hammers against the church resumed abruptly, but with lesser frequency as before. Mariane had no time to guess the happenings at the church exterior; her mind raced to generate an idea to reverse the knight's spell. There had to be… anything that could revert Tien back to his human state.

_As the child of God, should you have the faith, you might even return a dead to life, an undead to a human. Seek calmness even in the inevitable, and embrace it deep._

The words of the venerable priest, Holan Hosbane, otherwise the founder of the Avenger guild, struck hard on the priestess. As influential the man was, his preaching was no less different. His wisdom, together with his undying belief in God, was probably what brought Avenger to the peak as speculated by many.

"_An undead to human…"_

Mariane's eyes widened in realization; surprisingly she did not falter when the possessed monk drew close. Words to a spell seemed to form on her lips automatically, though she had not the slightest idea how it was running through her mind and to her lips so systematically without a pause. Tien's firm steps closed in on her with fists clenched, and surrounding him was a demonic aura. The red electricity circling his frame strengthened the unholy image of him.

"_Recede the misgivings with the spiritual recovery. Purify the taint, and relieve the filth. Status Recovery must be applied…"_

What the priest taught the cohort of the church surfaced in her mind again. Yes, Holan had passed away, but his teachings were still passing down to the juniors of the church without fail. The priestess pronounced line after line, and a cone of white light bathed the monk upon completion. At first she thought her experiment had failed miserably, for it was showing no obvious effects of the purification. The monk still moved with hands outstretched, grabbing her up by the hair. But her wobbly legs threatened to fail on her again once she stood.

And she did. Tien released her abruptly, causing a rough fall on several sharp pieces of wood. The cone of light gradually brightened, forcing the monk to close his eyes painfully. The priestess, too, shielded her eyes against the light with a bloody hand. Energy ebbed away from her ever since the casting of Magnus Exorcimus, leaving her beleaguered and defenceless. Somewhere away from her, Manald could hear faint cries of frustration coming out of the misbegotten knight.

The crimson streaks became very faint, before vanishing completely. Tien's skin, made a greenish tinge at the hands of Abyss, had reverted back to the tanned skin he always had. The monk shrivelled in power, like how a balloon was being deflated. Tien made a gurgling noise, then collapsed in a heap with a palm grasping his chest.

Mariane managed a weak smile. The undeath in the monk had been expelled by an impromptu Status Recovery spell. Her smile disappeared almost instantly. _What if that killed him? Is this how its going to end? People say your life would flash before you if_ _death was near, why is that I'm still seeing this accursed knight?_

Ridding of her immediate danger should have been a consolation, but there was absolutely no room for a party. Her next immediate danger came as soon as she denied the Abyss Knight of his deeds. _Even if Abyss was killed, somehow, there were still bulls to fight outside. And even if the bulls were destroyed, somehow, there were still the other superiors. Oh God, there is no end to this. _

Sure enough, the ebony knight extracted his black sword with a resounding ring that echoed his rage. "It is of no use, little priestess," Abyss said when he came to the four bodyguards' corpse. "The monk is gone, but this is not the end."

The knight reached his unoccupied hand to his side, drawing out a black flask. This artefact provided little exhilaration for him now; he was reminded of the incident of how he left Storm to die through the brutality of Baphomet and Dark Lord. Come to think about it, his death came so sudden. The Knight of Windstorm had lived as a superior for many, many years, and his untimely death was certainly fast becoming a controversy in the demonic society.

Abyss jerked his mind off the bitter thoughts. He was well aware of the Lord of Death's invasion from the west fields, and of course, how could he not remember the rumours about the Trait business. A pang of jealousy slipped into him without even the ebony knight realizing when he pictured Death riding gloriously with those Prontera, or rather, Rune-Midgard's vermins grovelling at his feet, hailing him with their hearts out.

Once Death cleared the troops at the west, his next mission of tearing down the accursed church affecting his army's morale would be inevitable.

_It should be me, and me only. You think you can handle this all alone? Not without me crushing this damned church, Lord of Death.. The people will worship the sole Knight of the Abyss._

Wasting no time, the black armoured knight uncorked the black flask, pointing the opening to the four bodyguards' corpses. The human corpses began trembling slightly at first, then a shrill blowing of wind forced Mariane to shut her ears. She watched unblinkingly as the four former protectors of King Tristan III climbed to their feet stiffly. The priestess only knew it too well. They had been animated into damned servants of Abyss, like how Tien was falling precariously into the darkside, fighting in the name of the Abyss Knight.

The priestess looked around her. There was hardly any help available; the king and the novice acolytes had secured themselves somewhere in the compound of the church, and Tien lay unmoving near her. She expected the monk to only awake long after this madness. The pounding outside continued, each strike driving a wave of fear that caused her heart to skip a beat.

The soulless guards drew near with their swords out. They dragged their heavy boots across the stony floor noisily, walking with the typical hunch of an undead. Even if Mariane was in top shape right now, she doubted if she stood any chance against them. And so what if she managed to accomplish that? Could she seriously defeat Abyss herself? Not unless she was an immortal.

Images of Avenger surfaced, then faded, her times spent in the guild swirling in her head. That was probably what signalled her soon to come death. The first person who came into her mind was Skull, the various scenes of him defending her from the orc battle near St Caprina, and the evening at Lord Stratza's place where he first held her hand playing in repetition. Perhaps that would be her only regret if she died. She then recalled her leader, Cerberus, the knight discriminated by the men and women from Izlude. Torn apart in his inner turmoil of his brother and his close friend since he was a child, now considered much more than that, he did not quit on them. But on the battlefields, he was another person. This knight was a stark contrast to others, be it in the art of sword masteries or efficiency. He was the determined knight that would let no demon run him down.

Then came Sagis, the wizard who would not disclose much, nor did he talk unless necessary. She had come to respect his knowledge on certain things, and now she found herself wishing that she knew what he would do to save his skin under such circumstances, although everything she wished now only existed in her world of thoughts.

A thud caused her to look up. The four undead guards lay dead, for the second time, and someone tall stood between her and the Abyss Knight. His back was turned to her, and she had yet to identify the newcomer. She heard the Abyss Knight yell, but the person in front of her stood unfazed.

_Who is this man? Looks like he is an assassin…_

Mariane tried calling out to her saviour, but what came out was only a soft choking sound. She saw a purplish tinge of the cloak he wore that seemed vague to her. The next thing she saw was something peculiar. She did not see the man's hand; instead the wrist ended in something pointed. When she shifted her gaze higher up, her heart raced. The man had silver hair…

Skull stood staring at the demented knight. Though Abyss was at least a head taller than the assassin was, and twice as mighty, Skull's undaunted look promised death to the diabolical knight, just like how he had sworn to kill the crusader, Galor. Hands at his side, the pair of Infiltrators gleamed with hunger for blood. Blood pumping in anticipation, Skull watched his foe as he waited.

"You'll regret this, Mister Hero. No man alive can stop me, and I wonder what made you, an assassin the size of a mote, think otherwise." Abyss warned dangerously. "And your head will be the price in exchange for my steed's death, _Hero_!"

"My only regret is to watch you raise the foul dead and not do a damn thing about it, Abyss Knight. My would-be regret is failing to subdue you, if it happens, that is," said Skull.

Mariane's faith returned, and she looked flatteringly at the boiling assassin. Before her mind blanked, she took one last glance at purple cloaked man. _You have come, assassin… my Koju… _

Blinded by the injection of bloodlust, Skull let his soul become one with his katars. He lashed his right to Abyss's neck, only to have his wrist gripped tightly by the knight's gloved hands. Pulling the assassin closer, Abyss hauled him overhead, landing the mortal on top of broken wood and stones. Skull's grunts escaped his lips as soon as he hit the rough surface, but his bloodlust had not subsided. A broken back was more than enough to let Abyss capitalize. He watch the assassin wriggle on the floor a moment longer, then turned to the priestess.

Mariane forced herself to avert her gaze away from those red gleaming orbs of Abyss while she scrambled away like a child when cornered. Tien still had not stirred since the purging of his undeath, and the priestess guessed it was not possible for him to awaken any moment. For all she knew, he really was dead.

Abyss tore off a stubborn chunk of his shorn off armour dangling loosely from his torso, and hurled it aside.

"You like flaunting your spells so much that you even hurt me. Too bad, now, a priestess like you could might as well rot and die. But, a quick death is too light a verdict… too light."

Abyss reached a gloved hand to pull her closer. Those sinister red eyes flared as he grabbed her by the throat in the other hand, murmuring a chain of foreign chants she could not comprehend. Abyss focused his eyes on the priestess –and she screamed. Her hair fell loosely around her in a tangled mess, beads of sweat forming on her forehead ran over her grimed face. Abyss sneered when her eyes opened wide, not of trauma but more of a delirious state.

And suddenly there was no screams or any other noises, except for the inexorable pounding of the minotaurs' hammers in an attempt to crush the church. Mariane's mouth was still hung open –in a silent scream. Abyss's laughter bounced off the compound of the church, echoing furiously in the priestess's ears. The feeling was unbearable.

Abyss let his captive fall to the floor. He loosened his black sword in the scabbard, shifting his focus to Skull. But he was nowhere to be found. The spot where he had only lay recently was now empty. Abyss passed a searching glance around, and a sudden gush of wind spelled trouble for him. A red-tipped blade sliced along his exposed places unprotected by the armour, drawing thick, gooey demonic blood. Abyss opened his mouth in a scream, his howls incongruous to his powerful form. Turning around, he found himself becoming his intended's intended. Skull erupted into a smooth combination of potent thrusts that forced the knight backwards. After cornering the knight into an obstacle of more stones and smashed benches, Skull drove a katar through the armour, and into the abdomen.

"Ugh… you," Abyss breathed the words out. "You… how is that possible, mortal? I am… I am the Knight… Knight of the Abyss… the godly knight…"

"If I could stick your damned horse, I don't see why I can't do the same to you," Skull spoke each word with intentional slowness.

Abyss slugged the assassin across the jaws, reeling him backwards. The wrist blade impaled in him too flew from his body together with Skull, drawing a painful gasp from the black knight. He pressed a hand against his bloody stomach and limped with surprising quickness, as if his injury was just a mere fluke.

Skull's blank stare gave the knight hope. Grabbing a fistful of silver hair, Abyss drove a hard fist squarely into Skull's midriff, drew back and threw another clobber, and again, and again in successive repetition, each blow quicker and stronger than the last. Blood frothed the lips of the fading assassin, but he did not so much as to make a noise. When Abyss's hands opened to release him, he crumbled to the floor silently.

"I warned you, assassin. I will not be defeated…"

The Knight of Abyss allowed himself a brief rest, and slowly unsheathed his black sword as if he had everything under his control, and as if time was on his side. Uttering a deep, jerky laugh, he closed the grip around the long hilt with two hands, holding the tip downwards above Skull's heart.

"Return to your abyss, knight, and return to your restless sleep!"

Assuming a blow from the man behind was in process, Abyss reversed his sword and did a precise backhand in a rapid, single motion –and a charged knuckled fist snapped the blade of his black sword, and continued through downwards like an unstoppable comet to smash the floor. Abyss screamed, the remaining half of the black sword slipped from his hands, and his black armour began cracking apart to cascade in pieces of waste metal. The echoing screams resounded off the walls and deep into the eardrums of those alive. The form of Abyss thinned, and then split to vaporize into specks of mote.

Tien remained in his position; kneeling on one knee with his right fist still imbedded into the miniature crater on the floor, where he last shattered it apart, he paid no mind to the dying voices.

"I will not be defeated…"


	56. Terrors end

-56-

The man who once called himself Doppie gritted his teeth against the persisting pain in his back, no, his abdomen, again no. He was aching from head to toe. Dark blood was smeared dry over his face, and it only seemed his eyes were the only parts not masked by it.

He knew he would be paralyzed for as long as he stayed pressed under the mounds of broken stones. Ignoring the pain, he grunted heavily as he expended whatever strength remained in his weak body to free the stones above him. That had caused him much effort, for he rolled over to the side of the street, if it even looked like one from the haze and felled buildings.

The faint swordsman wrinkled his nose from the fetor; amidst the mounds of stones were corpse of orcs, most charred beyond recognition, except their stout and muscular form that still proved as their identity. Not to mention, humans too. Dead warriors were just as badly shocked; their blackened state suggested that they might have been human torches. But that was not the case. Only the Lord of Death was capable of laying such an atrocious carnage.

The swordsman still lay unmoving on the smoky curb, with a slit of both eyes left open. His mind was a complete blank, the events as murky as mud. Snippets of the hellish fight between him and the Whiteterror, as named by some in Prontera to call the Lord of Death, did little to stir the rest of his memories. Apparently, the strange chain of white lightning that triggered off haphazardly had too, wrecked him to the depths of being. Being a Superior, perhaps that was why he did not suffer as bad as those killed.

But what on Rune Midgard could summon such immense power, so powerful that it even incapacitated a Superior with a Trait in possession within him?

Another flash appeared in his head. The Lord of Death was raising his lance skyward, and he stood before the Whiteterror, trying to disrupt the channelling of energy. He least expected it, but the disturbance had been deadly. So deadly that the aftershock had sent hundreds of both humans, and orcs alike to their demise.

_So did I do this? Where is that bloody dog of a knight? Did he die in that bloody lightning frenzy as well?_

He had many questions, yet he could find no logical answers to them. Even if he managed to find out somehow, that did not make much difference. That certainly did not alter the fact that he was part of the dark conquest over Rune Midgard. He guessed he had only redeemed little by turning against the Lord of Death. Redemption… it was all too late now.

_Why did I even come by such a fate? Or rather, us. The dead branches… yes, the dead branches… we were brought from our Guardian Spots in the Demon plane back into Rune Midgard, where we once the greatness in the making. Where we made a name for ourselves… but now, soulless and very much dead demons. We could have forgotten about it, and return to where we belonged. But I guess our hunger for the feeling proved insatiable. The feeling of greatness…_

Doppelganger slowly climbed back to his feet with the shaky support of the stones, and felt a cold, naked steel against his throat. He was too weak to retaliate, he just had to forfeit grudgingly to the silver knight.

_This would be the end of me…_

"What are you waiting for, Lord of Death? You may have won this fight with me, but the rest would not let you off. You are very much wanted, knight," Doppelganger croaked.

"That bloody knight is dead, swordsman," a majestic voice, vaguely familiar, sounded behind him. "The pact is broken; the four of you are sought after, dead or alive."

Doppelganger planted two fingers behind the blade, and pushed it away from his throat. Turning around, there was no mistake about it. The two curled horns, the black, beady eyes, the yellow fur, and the massive scythe… Baphomet himself.

"Bah, Baphomet," he sniffed. "What are you waiting for, then? If I am wanted, most likely preferred dead, then bury your rusty, goddamn scythe into my heart quickly."

The great goat demon sneered, but Doppelganger could hardly see it in that mane. Baphomet stood about a head and a half taller than the swordsman, and that had made Doppelganger look more vulnerable than he already was.

"I'd be watching my tongue in front of the exalted one, if I were you, swordsman. But you will not end up like your accomplices just yet, swordsman. Not yet."

"I don't understand…"

"In time to come, you will. The Agility Trait is in a sense, your birthright. None could browbeat you, or even defeat you for it. The pact requires none of the Trait Holders to be killed; if you even remember now, that means you are one of the few indispensable ones back on our rightful world."

Doppelganger frowned as if deprived of the slightest comprehension. But his heart lit up when Baphomet had proclaimed him an indispensable Superior.

"Then why was the Lord of Death killed? Who killed him, and why? He carried the Trait…"

Baphomet raised his scythe to cut him off.

"There is a difference, swordsman. The Trait is born in you; the Strength Whiteterror carried, was usurped."

Doppelganger was briefly surprised when the goat superior mentioned the Lord of Death's mortal name used in Prontera. He even wondered how he managed to find out. But before he followed Baphomet out of Prontera, a formerly great fortress now literally demolished inside out, he decided to ask one last question.

"What was that white lightning? And what do you do with the free Trait?"

"Is your memory failing worse than a seventy-yeared villageman, or are you being denial? Did you not even know what you had done? But I doubt you would understand much, and lets say it is Whiteterror to blame. The Strength Trait, we will see what we can do to resurrect the rightful owner, if that is possible. We've wasted enough time, swordsman. Maybe you might remember something useful to clear your doubts in time."

The last of Baphomet's hooves disappeared into a wavering black portal together with the butt of his scythe.

- -

"The Abyss knight dead…"

She felt a link tightened, then snapped like a twig. It was a feeling she was just barely able to recall. According to her, it had been eons ago since a superior died. Leaping over the dome-shaped roof of the church with perfect agility, Moonlight Flower peered over the high eaves to see hulking, minotaur-like monsters swinging their hammers against the church. Each strike made the entire structure shudder, but her nimble feet kept her stable.

_Majorous came all the way south from the clock tower? Would that be too much a coincidence that Abyss is inside the church? All that drivel about being undefeated… you needed these worms nonetheless in your foul little adventure that broke the pact._

She was still brooding over the decision to make a clean job over the minotaurs, or warp herself back into the demon plane, but before she knew what she was doing, Moonlight flipped off the roof to startle the band of Majorouses. Their hammers hung suspended in mid-air, their muscles tensing at the presence of a superior. Despite her size, she looked just as intimidating as any other superior, with her feline qualities and her magic. She put out her bell-pole, doing a circling motion to encompass the whole group of minotaurs.

"Go back home, beasts, back to your clock tower. Whoever commanded you here is dead," she avoided mentioning the Abyss knight, as if it was a blasphemy.

"Don't fool with us, bloody cat," one defiant Majorous stood out. "We travel here, just to be called back? This is total foolishness, cat."

There was an intense silence, some other Majorouses trying to still their twitching muscles for fear that the defiant minotaur had taken a step too far, too far over the line. Moonlight Flower retracted her bell weapon, but never taking her eyes off them.

"I do not travel all the way here to be called a 'bloody cat', minotaur. But I do want to make my trip here more… worthwhile."

A hot bar of red flame projected from Moonlight's palms, splitting upon smaller bolts of fire upon impact. Hammers flew from the Majorouses' hands and those hulking figures fell, seared to the bone. A handful of stubborn Majorouses crawled to their knees, only to be pelted through the skull with jagged bolts of ice, and fell once again, not breathing.

Moonlight turned her back to the dead Majorouses, and skipped over to the silver double doors of the church, one half torn from its hinges. She stole a glance within; there was no trace of any knight in black, except for the shattered remains of his dark armor, and two halves of his black sword. A dent in the ground lay near. Her sweeping gaze also told her of a semi-conscious priestess leaning against the side of a bench, with an assassin close-by who looked like he was teetering on the edge that divided life and death. And a bloodied monk down on one knee with his back turned to her.

_That monk again… did he kill Abyss? Monks… I hate to admit it, but Extremity Fists are pretty… dangerous._

That thought lingered for a while in her head for as long as she stood watching. Trying not to arouse their attention to her, she muffled the ringing on her bell-pole and leaped off into the thickening haze.


	57. No love lost

Character note: Yeven (was Piffy), Mariane (was Manald)

-57-

"The entire southern district was wiped out, that few survivors claimed that it was the Lord of Death's doing."

The burly warlord's eyes shot open. Not from the mention of Whiteterror, but rather the dramatic destruction of Prontera. Larzen passed a sad glance over the city, then turned to the sole survivor of the Fiendbanes, expecting more dire news out of him. The man's face was badly burned, torn pieces of the black veil hung from his jaws. His left eye was so badly hurt that he was forced to shut it.

"But he is dead now. And… I doubt any of our troops are alive, sir."

Smith appeared beside Larzen, a horribly ruined helmet cradled in the crook of his arms. Blood painted his forehead and blotches stained his cheeks, and a trail of red down his chin traced back to a split lip. Larzen was just as badly hurt; he had suffered a fatal stab in the gut, and the cloth garment underneath the armor so thickly soaked in blood that it could possibly be wrung to squeeze it out.

Larzen had searched in vain for any living priest, hoped against hope that he would survive long enough to find a cure, any cure, from anyone who was capable of healing. At this rate, he would die from loss of blood. There was hardly any life force left in him.

"Support me, Smith. I can't walk."

None had seen the robust warlord so battered, so beaten, not even in the wars before the four manifested onto Rune Midgard. Smith struggled with his bad leg; a feathered shaft was imbedded in his left thigh. He grabbed the other warlord under the arms, and it felt freezing cold to him. His face froze, and shook his head in denial.

"No, Larzen! Don't freaking die, man! Don't bloody die after a hard-fought victory!"

Larzen slipped from his grasp and fell onto the ground on his backside, then rolled to his side. His breath was quiet, and Smith had a feeling that he was fading away. He did not realize he had been too preoccupied with the dying warlord to notice the sudden waves of acute pain in his leg. Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, he shook Larzen one last time, but he did not budge. The warlord –his face white as a Whisper –moved his lips.

"We've won, Smith. Did… did we n… not? Ah… I wanna be back… back at home, sip that bottle of Yggdrasil ale. That… that burned my zenies, and I ain't finished that yet. I'd share that, lad. You won't steal it, would ya?"

Although the words were breathed out hoarsely, Smith made out the words. He grabbed Larzen and pulled him to a sitting position.

"Yes, we won. And you had better live long to reform the Fiendbanes!"

Smith felt as if a dead weight was pulling the man backwards. He slapped his cold cheeks repeatedly, yet there was no sign of a reaction. He then realized Larzen had stopped maintaining his position. He was dead. Smith let the body fall to the ashy floor, and he looked around him. Bodies piled over one another, in various position of their fall from the death score. Some buildings were felled over one another, while some were destroyed cleanly. A couple were leaning over to its side precariously, black clouds of smoke drifting out from smashed windows with the bars or panes removed together in the lightning frenzy. The stench of sulphur was rich in the air.

The sole survivor of the Fiendbanes, called Murrin, knelt watching Smith staring at nothing in particular. He wondered if those alive had their sanity intact. Placing a palm over his chest, he dipped his head in deference to his dead leader. Murrin stood up silently, and left in search for other survivors.

* * *

If it ever occurred to him that she was the one who laid unmoving under the crumpled base of the Fountain of Odin, Pay would probably draw an arrow from the quiver at his hips and stab himself. His breaths came in wheezes from the black smoke and sand, and he cautioned towards the spot where the fountain used to stand, but now made a tall mound of smashed, wet stones and splintered metal, water running off in all directions. The golden statue of Odin, a mounted warrior with a sword held high proudly in a clenched fist, was merely pieces of worthless gold that was once an exquisite, rare spoils of the Dokebis. 

A woman's leg was the only exposed part of a corpse hidden under the rocks, and what frightened Pay was the boots she wore. Those brown boots that hunters or huntresses usually wore in their hunts. It was almost like their default dressing code, according to him.

_Please, I have never really prayed before, but don't let it be her. Please._

His hands slowly parted the rocks, revealing the hem of a white dress smudged with black patches of dirt. Half his anxiety was dispelled, but he continued removing the rocks. _Praise be the light, she was in no white dress._

Pay wanted to at least respect the dead woman. Shifting aside the last chunk of rock that apparently had her trapped to death, he grimaced at the sight of a novice priestess, or rather an acolyte. The gruesome wound across the neck suggested that a thick axe blade had sliced deep in it. His fists clenched unknowingly; as much as he hated the orcs, he was just as furious to see such calamity befall the greatest fortress in the legends. Looking at it now, it had become just a myth. Prontera may have survived, but too many have died. Far too many.

The hunter's Arbalest bow, with the horns and strings snapped, lay gripped in his hands. He began to wonder if something had happened to Yeven. And Cerberus, too. This could very well be an omen. Hurling the broken bow behind him, he fought the difficulty in breathing as he searched for her in the unbearable smoke. It was a blessing to survive the battle against the four, but he knew if he did not stop his fruitless search, he would still die nonetheless, from over inhaling of fumes. He was already running short of breath.

He had done all he could; keeping the scant hope alive, screaming her name to the extent of losing his voice, risking the poison intake, and even braving the buildings that leaned dangerously to its side. But she was nowhere in sight. His glimmer of hope died, as he fell limply onto ashes.

Although dimly aware of it, he had been trying to examine his feelings over her, until now. _Ever since you did that bandage, you have been fluttering my stomach, huntress. Come to think about it, I thought I saw her making calf-eyes when I wasn't looking._

His eyes fluttered open for a moment, then close. Pay was not sure how long he slept, but he remembered the dreams he had vividly. He heard his name being called a million directions, yet he saw no one each time he turned to face that particular direction, before the opposite side called to him immediately. It was almost impossible to react in time, but he was sure the voice sounded like hers. When it stopped, he saw a huntress running with her back turned to him, her blonde hair undulating behind her.

"Hold on! I'm almost there to get you out! Just hold on and don't run!"

_Did she also die in that crazed lightning dance? But she was with me, so she must be close-by. I would be more stupid than a poring to sprint all over the city._

His eyes opened again. This time round, he heard someone calling his name. He rubbed off the blur in his eyes, and saw two women kneeling beside him, except that one was very much younger. She was an acolyte he had never seen before. He turned –and saw her.

"Elemire?" he struggled against his painful throat. "I…"

"Keep still, sir, I will heal you as soon," the acolyte said. He was surprised to see her among theunharmed.

A wave of tingling green energy flowed from her palms and into the hunter, soothing him like some sort of heavenly treatment. The pain in his parched throat was gone, as did his coughs. He found himself breathing easier.

"I've brought you an acolyte, you poor hunter. Were you calling my name?" Elemire whispered, her face contorted with concern. "You look very much –"

Pay let out a long breath, and unlocked his index and middle finger that was crossed tightly. His emotions were bubbling, and whatever he had planned to tell the huntress, he summarized it all in a tight, silent embrace.

* * *

The army in white, the blacksmiths hailing all the way south from Alberta, brandished their axes and hammers to slice the pulley ropes on the huge catapults that lined the fields outside the church. From the looks alone, the orcish controllers were not a trifle as close as the warriors. They were skinnier versions of the green-skinned beasts, and they hardly fought. The blacksmiths made quick work of them to minimize the damage, although it was much heavier than the limits people could imagine. 

In one quick order, the catapults were all razed into rubble. The blacksmiths stood in a scattered mass, gazing up to the burning towers of Prontera sullenly, as though guilty of their tardiness that caused it. There was little celebration, but they were glad that the church had not fallen. At least, it was still intact, standing with importance as a pillar of hope.

* * *

Leaning back against the wall, he watched the fear-stricken faces of the church novices. King Tristan III stood up slowly; it was the first time Tien saw him without the air of self-importance or pride, without the traits of a king. The monk wondered if there was hardly any of those left in King Tristan, from the partially destroyed city. He was suddenly aware of half the reason in those frightened novices with fearful looks, and his hands reached his face automatically in a futile attempt to clean the blood off that had long adhered to his face. 

"What now, monk?"

"Don't speak like I am of devilish rhapsody, Tristan," Tien said, ignoring protocol. "I came to say you are safe."

King Tristan III parted his jaws, staring at the monk with wide, but unsure eyes.

"I'm not quite sure I follow, but you killed the damned knight in black?"

"Them," Tien replied curtly, jerking a thumb backwards to the main hall. The condition of the priestess struck him like a snake, and he thought by creditting the assassin he would indirectly change the king's mind to put him behind bars. He thought his guilt hadprompted him so.

* * *

His head swam, a wave of pain darting through his brains. His eyes burst open when memory returned to him. The last he recalled, he was being pulverized by the Abyss Knight, his bruised midriff triggering a chain of flashes in his head, and that had worsened the pain. Skull tried sitting up, but his injured mid section barred that move. Grunting like a man shot in the chest, the assassin reached a hand to the woman lying against a bench near him. That foul knight had better not touched her… 

Skull swung his head around suddenly, expecting a death swing of Abyss's sword. But there was nobody. The hall was empty, except for him and the priestess. Then he saw the black scraps of metal and a black blade broken neatly in two jagged halves. The knight was nowhere in sight.

He died? Why… how… 

That was not topping his chart of questions and worries. Snapping his head back to the priestess, he cupped her cheek with a hand to shake her mildly. Her torn dress and her locks that lay in a tangled mess told him of trouble.

"Mariane?"

She lay still for a moment more, before her eyes fluttered open dreamily. But Skull thought it looked like it was out of exhaustion. The thunderous beats against his chest slowed at the fact that she was alive.

"Mariane…" he uttered, not knowing what to say next.

The priestess opened her mouth to say something –and choked. She struggled with her intended speech, but Skull calmed her, trying to put on a placid look to consolidate his efforts. He then helped her to sit up.

"Slowly…we're quite safe for now."

The assassin waited for words to come out, but heard nothing. The next thing he knew, Mariane buried her head into his chest in fierce, choking sobs that made Skull's brows crease together.

"What is wrong… tell me, say something."

The priestess bawled her eyes out while Skull demanded her condition. Still, nothing came. Things began to feel wrong…

"Not for long, assassin."

Skull turned to see a monk striding out onto the aisle, his face a mask without emotions despite the blood. On the contrary, that had strengthened the impassive look.

"Why, monk? Why?" Skull pursued with apparent impatience.

"She is traumatized." There was a long pause, before the next statement came. "Traumatized by the Abyss Knight, somehow he muted her in the process. The priestess can't speak, assassin."

Skull felt a thousand swords thrust into his heart, if not worse. He looked at Mariane for a long while, stunned so bad as if a band of crusaders had bashed him in the head with their shields. His fists were wrapped around the hand-hold of the katar so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Why do everyone around me have to end up either dead or hurt? WHY? Am I under the Dark Lord's tough luck, or what? 

"How did you know all these, monk? So you weren't out cold just now, were you not? You could have done something! Why didn't you do something? Why, you bastard!" the assassin roared, arousing attention from King Tristan III who just appeared. But Skull paid him no mind.

"Snapping at me won't heal her, assassin," Tien reasoned. "You want to save her, and you failed. Who is to blame? I am a monk, and I fight demons. I am not a babysitter, and hell, I don't babysit girls."

With that said, Tien stalked out of the church, knowing too well that nothing would pass the thick skull of the assassin.

* * *

A man clad in black dived to knock aside the alchemist when the last chain of the lightning frenzy dashed across him. Both men rolled over to crash against a large slab of stone. 

"Ah! Sagis, you!"

"I bloody rescued you, don't say a thing."

The wizard tucked the necklace back under his robes, after realizing it had flown out and had been dangling in front of him. Yeven began rubbing his back furiously, where it collided with the stone. He was still glaring at the wizard.

"Ye happy now? I think I've got a broken back, all 'cos of ye!"

"Quiet, alchemist," Sagis hissed. "I think that lightning killed Cerberus."

"_Killed_?" Yeven howled, his face turning red in the process. "Wh- Ye didn't see with yer own eyes, wizard! First ye send me knocking into that bloody stone, and now yer runnin' yer mouth!"

Sagis was already gone, flipping bodies of knights who lay dead on their stomach. He suddenly caught the glint of something red and blue, and immediately identified that as Cerberus's weapon. The Firebrand and Ice Falchion.

_Didn't that lightning hit him after I saved that ungrateful alchemist?_

"Cerberus! By the gods, the lightning _did_ hit you!"

"Wizard… Sagis, I won't die just yet. We still have much to do," the knight whispered weakly, the words escaping his lips hardly audible. He circled a finger around the city. "It isn't the end. Far from it."

Sagis eyed the knight with clear disbelieve. He had witnessed the fall of the Lord of Death in person, of course, the duel of the superiors included. And all of that- everything that was happening- was cut short within a single, hellish thunderstorm, stopped dead in one heartbeat. Time seemed to suspend itself during that moment, while he never plucked his gaze from it.

That dramatic finish had his heart twisting. He was not sure from what; maybe a shatter to his indifferent attitude, if he doubted he still carried, or maybe even for fear that none was left alive in the blast. Fear that the Avenger was left dead. He could have sworn that Cerberus was pretty much dead; none was able to evade death when struck even by the most insignificant of a fork, as far as he speculated from the sight laid out before his eyes.

For a fleeting moment he wished he was on a penance to collect nightsoil for every household in Prontera; the guild business meant nothing to him already, and maybe if it did not existed, Prontera would not be landed in such pathetic state at all, neither would a blade of grass on Rune Midgard would be jeopardised at all. A phosphorescence from the blades awoke him from his reverie.

"I just need some rest, wiz, my swords bolted that lightning enough to keep me living," Cerberus said, holding up his swords.

"Good, that's good," came a soft reply that could not have come in the wizard's territory. "It's over. It's all over."


	58. Epilogue

Character note  
  
Yeven (was Piffy)  
Reka (was Maraulea)  
Sagis (was Sagizeulus)

(A/N): Ok, this is the finale already. You've come a long way... heh. Let me know your comments on the story, all reviews are much appreciated.

Epilogue

The hysterical scene, at the tall, arched gates of the white city, suddenly looked and sounded very new to the newcomer. New was not the word; and so she searched for a better word more akin to what she felt. Yes, it was more of a nostalgia. She had not heard such a din since a good seven months ago. Seven months ago… where the horrors were realized, but stopped too late.

The lone rogue- she felt strange to travel alone as she was almost never without her companions around her- wrapped her coat around her more tightly as the biting wind rushed past and chilled her as though the fur coat had loosened patches in it. The fur coat, custom made for her back in Morroc, had not been cheap. But what was money to her? If she ever had anything to boast about, it was her fat zeny pouch that was threatening to force the seams apart. She ruffled the soft, yellow fur; the tailor had told her that it was a fresh import from the north, purely extracted from the manes of Baphomet Juniors.

She even noticed several new put up stakes that had arrows nailed at the head, pointing in a certain direction that would lead to a place with the names of it scratched below the arrows with a chalk. She found it amusing that an arrow pointing north indicated "Prontera", while anyone, even someone partially blind, would obviously see the high, grand walls of the city that yearned to feel the clouds.

It was the start of winter, but that did not pose as an excuse for postpones and trainings, definitely not for vendors- mostly blacksmiths in sleeveless white top that clung tightly to their beefy body- who were still promoting their wares, promising discounts to the first batch of customers who would patronize him. Novices carrying horribly blunt knives sat dejected outside at the lush, green fields, as if their weapon owed them lunch money. The rogue found her hackles rising at the wet splattering noise of poring dying; she had always felt disgusted at it.

The red-haired rogue did not fail to marvel at the majestic aspects of Prontera, even though she had already been in and out of the city countless times, and even lived there longer than most people. She smiled at the newly revamped south district; the black, charred buildings she did not remember fondly were now replaced by freshly painted tall buildings, some even attaining the height of the walls. Blacksmiths and merchants crowded the street curbs as usual, some so proud and confident of their works that they so much as to perform the crafting of the demanded equipment "live" in front of the customers, hoping to earn their performance some flattery from the watchers.

Children played and squealed around her, and smells of cooking fire pervaded throughout the city from the row of houses. She actually felt more at home here than in Morroc. At least, she did not have to breathe the mud and watch her pouch more closely than a goodwife fixing all her attention to adjust a cook fire to perfection. She rounded a corner and stood at the square. The fountain was reconstructed; but there was something odd about it. The statue of Odin was gone, now replaced by one of King Tristan III, with the head cocked upwards as though to admire his golden blade. She nearly died from choking laughters.

_Well, well... now it feels like the four was quite unheard of at all. Feels just the way it is before._

The rogue jostled through the throng of people- looking like a gathering of many households- holding a roasting session, the whiffs of spiced Pecopeco stimulating considerable spit. She cursed silently when she realized that the last meal she had was some Willow's sweet potatoes and Poring apples, caramelized. In the morning.

It was near dinnertime; she suddenly wished she was putting her dinner before the search for her companions. The rogue looked at her hands –and was genuinely surprised to find three zeny pouches in her hands.

_Damn, was I that hungry and bored that I didn't know what my hands were doing? Forget it, more money is better than none._

The redhead came right up the Night Star, an inn sitting at the edge of Prontera, but not totally unnoticed. On the contrary, business was bustling. A sign showing a spilled beer bottle and a stack of coins hung slightly above the entrance, freshly painted like any other buildings. Pushing aside the doors, she went in. The rotund barkeep was inspecting a tally sheet with eyes squinting with effort, a pencil stashed along the back of his ear. The newly renovated inn had a welcoming touch to it; redstone walls and furniture constructed from fine trunks of Elder Willow, and a homely fragrant of a hotchpotch of roasted fish and stews hung thick. The furnace provided no little warmth that meekly satisfied the customers.

The rogue heard a distinctive "You, come!" booming from the corner of the inn, one of the bigger tables near the fireplace. She did not have to guess any further; it could only be Yeven. The barkeep wrapped a meaty palm over the ears of three tall mugs, and waddled over to the alchemist's table to slap it down, spilling the foam. The alchemist shouted something to him but was lost in the din. The rogue noticed another man sitting quietly beside him, and his black robe had him pretty well hidden in the corner. She knew the wizard detested attention.

"I'm back, you dolts! How did you all miss me?" Reka screamed above the din.

Yeven dropped his mug and spilled a good half of what remained. With his head buried in his mug all the while, he was startled unexpectedly. The alchemist's face became red, and fixed a glare at the rogue.

"And how about getting' me another mug of these expensive liquid, missy?"

Reka grinned at the man. Fishing out two of the three pouches she had stolen, she dangled it in front of the alchemist's eyes. Yeven made a clumsy swing at it, and caught air. Dropping his glare, he waited for the pouches to drop before him.

"You came alone?" Sagis suddenly spoke, still chewing a mouthful of fried Fabres. His Soul Staff was leaned against the wall behind him, the flames from the furnace making it gleam like a dangerous artefact ready to burn a finger off.

"Are you expecting someone else? Or are you not glad to see me?" the rogue replied, putting up a hurt look. But the wizard paid it no heed.

"I thought Mariane or that thick skull of a man was with you. The king wanted to showcase us, or so I heard."

The look on Reka's face immediately switched to one of bafflement. "What showcase? I know _we _are the heroes responsible for the death of the foursome, might that king be crediting us with riches? I won't have to cut strings and loot belts anymore, I think."

Yeven returned with a whole tray of mugs; there was the inn's own ale mix, Payon spirits, Geffen's honey ale and a black liquid that the rogue knew so well. Almost everyone back in her hometown carried a bottle of Morroc alcohol, and one bottle was quite enough to bring a man down to snooze through the day.

"Careful you drop dead, nobody's dragging you back home," Sagis muttered loud enough to be heard. "I won't be a goodwife to crush herbs and feed you concoctions for an overhang."

"It was a hard fought victory, wiz, whadd'ya know? So that means, it's a bloody good time for a beer frenzy!"

Sagis grabbed the tray away. "We're expected at the king's manor later this evening, Yeven, and I doubt people like dancing with a gruff alchemist reeking with alcohol. Drop the dance, lets not even talk about talking."

"Indeed? But I haven't ea –"

"We _are_ expected for a dinner, to be specific," he interjected the rogue, who was giving him an indignant look for interrupting her. But that was quickly converted to a curl of her lips at the mention of dinner, and her train of thoughts led her to a roasting feast she presumed much grander than the one back at St Caprina. Sagis's eyes narrowed when the rogue did a short jig, and he let his head fall into his hands, as though disapproving his acknowledgement of her.

Reka abruptly stopped when she realized that little foolishness had earned almost every stare from across the room, ranging from wide-eyed ridicule to narrow look of askance. It only seemed that the barkeep was the only one unbothered; apparently he was still leaning back behind the counter, scribbling furiously after a round of coin counting. After all, there _was_ someone who could compete with her in the field of obsession with zeny.

There were already flippant murmurs from tables around her. The four young merchants behind her, who had been discussing heatedly over the lack of trade of pure Eluniums, had digressed to the defeat of the four more quickly than a novice scurrying from a Ghostring, all the while locking their gaze at her and the two men sharing the same table with her.

"So that renegade had enough warm blood left in him to fight those orcs…"

"…looks like that friend of Knight Cerberus."

"…I'll swear before Odin that lightning could've finished every bloody one of us in a single blast."

"…three… so the rest might have died…"

"…church's not down, praise the light…"

"…I'll put ten grand on the line with you, the king's putting the trial off for being saved by the assassin…"

"…I was thinking the rogue looked cute in her fighting stance…"

"…what are you saying? They must've hooked…"

"Yeah I saw 'em hugging…"

"…monk drove that bloody fist right through the cursed knight, I heard…"

Everybody began talking at once, and the rogue was feeling overwhelmed by a sea of humans. Even the barkeep snapped his head up, wondering what he had missed in the middle of his accounting. It was impossible to be heard in this ruckus, and she ushered the two men with a gesture to follow her out of the inn. Yeven looked at his tray of beer wistfully, but Sagis hoisted him from his seat and jostled through the crowd.

* * *

Cerberus adjusted the saddlebags slung over his shoulders. The church bells tolled with the end of a funeral, a mass funeral to commemorate the deaths of those who fought for the cause of Prontera, and done what they could to put an end to the four's shadowy conquests. The backyard of the church had to be extended to bury many of the dead. 

_It was unnecessary for so many to die, at the very least, it's the end of this madness._

He was proud of the warriors, and of the city, for defending against and surmounting the impossible to preserve the legend. The legend of the greatest fortress on Rune Midgard, and that legend would not be liable to any changes. Not now, not any time in the future, not for eternity. They had died well.

The knight gave a long exhale, the leaving a long trail of cold smoke. The tip of his long wool overcoat flapped about his ankles as he walked the snow packed streets. The city was whiter than ever. He doubted if he would forget this winter after he left. Surely, he doubted he would ever forget his companions. As much as he wanted to stay through Christmas with them, he felt the need to leave. His home was drawing him back, and he needed to make a trip back to Izlude.

_Home… it doesn't look like one to me though… but…_

His friends, Yeven in particular, would never fail to discourage that decision. Yet, he could not bear to leave in secrecy. Not without a word.

His boots left deep prints in the snow as he trudged past the square, and into the eastern district. Of course, he attracted no little attention as usual, with talks of heroes and valor from the Prontera folks. He merely kept his head down and increased his pace.

He stood in front of Yeven's home. The green tiled roof was thick with snow, and he figured the alchemist had better things to busy himself with than to clear the accumulation of snow. He knocked on the door. Nobody opened the door, and there was no reply.

The knight suddenly felt the saddlebags weighing his shoulder down. He realized it had been slung over his shoulder for the past hour without letting it down, and it was numb and aching. He immediately set the bags down, sat on the stairs and knuckled his left shoulder.

The door suddenly creaked open behind him, almost making him roll down the stairs. The startled knight rose to face a monk. He suddenly noticed a cleaned, fresh look on the tall man, as if he had finally been brought out of a dank pit after a week. However, the traces of violence and brutality were still conspicuous in his face.

"Are you going to stare, or are you coming in?" the monk asked in a tone the knight thought was free of the customary contempt. Frowning, he nodded his head. Cerberus picked up his bags and entered. He certainly had not expected Tien to be in the alchemist's home, of all places. And of all people, the leader of Avenger's nemesis. He forced the lines of division between guilds out of his head; the business was gone. He only wished the monk meant no harm.

"Tien, what are you doing here? I was away for a few months to count; those organisations at the barracks are assigning knights to survey cities ravaged by the four "

"Yes, I am aware, knight. Al De Baran, is it not? I've heard, knight," Tien shrugged on a jacket on as he spoke. He led the knight across the hall and into the guest room, as claimed by Yeven. It seemed like surprises was plentiful ever since his return, in which attending the funeral was his first event after the night of his trip back to Prontera. Too many things happened at once, and it seemed he never learned enough to keep up. First it was Larzen's death, and the Fiendbane squad killed. Now, the man he considered an antagonist in the guild fraternity was dangerously welcoming.

"The guild business is no more, there is no need to be tensed at your former rival. Did I just say former?" Tien said. He took a seat on the bed.

"Then you are alone…"

"Its past eight months, isn't it a little late to know? My guild, former guild," the monk corrected. "…is dead. The whole squad, of course, except for me and Elemire."

Tien eyed the knight uncomfortably as though he still sensed a trace of hostility in him. Sniffing, he spoke again. Cerberus started wondering when would be his chance to speak.

"Be at ease, knight. I am not going to put a knife in your ribs with your back turned. Like I said, the guild business is over; through the damned foursome I hope we won't be up at each other's throat too much."

Cerberus nodded his head, but showed no sign of relieve. The monk only thought he was being over sensitive. Leaning against the wall with arms crossed, Cerberus threw a grin at the other man.

"It was the least I could imagine both of us talking, in the same room, without the curses and stare-downs. I guess you are right. A truce, be it." He scratched at his beard that was unshaven for two weeks. "I was gone for long, and back to see Prontera raised once again. It's a good thing, definitely. I just want to see everyone again."

"You are leaving?" Tien asked as he eyed the saddlebags.

"Homecoming, yes. Not too long from now, Tien."

"When? Tonight? You could at least stay for the showcase."

Cerberus's gave a confused look. "Showcase?"

"The king's idea; he wanted to put the heroes of the battles in the limelight of sorts. Oh yes, there is the feast too. You should stay for that, at least," Tien made no haste in explaining. "Your friends should be turning up, I am sure."

_Heroes, again. I am no hero, and I do not want to be one. Hell, we are just doing our job._

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"No, I was wondering where all of them went. I've seen only Yeven yesterday night."

Tien nodded his head slightly. He reached for a thick volume, although it was already the thinnest compared to the rest sitting on the shelf. It was titled _Glast Heim Legends: Pre-Ragnarok._ "I know both the archers once under us returned to Payon. I thought it might very well be a honeymoon in disguise, or it might just be a home-building, so they say."

"There are more than just the two of them…"

"In case you don't know, knight, I am no hunter sending out falcons spying on people." Tien closed the book uninterestingly and slotted it back into the shelf. "But in any case, I would think the thick headed assassin is bringing the mute priestess for a remedy. They could not be in Prontera, otherwise I would have heard signs of them from gossiping novice girls. It is time to leave now, knight; the king may be happy at his statue put up at the fountain but our tardiness may yet kill that grin on his puffy face."

The monk stood up to leave, and Cerberus followed him out of the door, slinging his bags over the other shoulder. The eastern districts were not as busy as the south, as far as Cerberus could see.

"You haven't answered my question, monk. How did you even go in Yeven's house? What are you doing there? He don't have anything edible in there, much less anything useful to you. And the worms…" he thought with a shudder.

"I did not go in to eat, knight. I am finding Yeven to deal him my Kaisers in return for a slotted fist and some extra coins. Then what are _you_ doing?"

"I left him my swords to mend it. I was just going to collect it."

The two walked along the snow packed streets silently, keeping out of the persistent merchants who were shoving their goods into the hands of passer-bys with an outstretched hand that demanded coins. They walked for some time, and heard a distant yell near where they had just left. "…lads broke into my house! Argh!"

Cerberus allowed himself to smile. He knew the voice too well. The knight turned briefly to see an alchemist bounding into his house, with a black-robed wizard and a bantering rogue tagging behind lazily. He decided to make his return more unwinding; after he left tonight, he did not know if he would come back to Prontera for the next three months, seven months, or perhaps even a year. He would eat to his hearts content with his companions later at the manor, talk about the guild conquests they had had, the plans they had, and whisper cheekily about women. Before he left, he would at least let the Prontera folks acknowledge him a hero. For the last time, hopefully. He jogged to catch up with the monk.

END OF INFERNAL INCARNATIONS: THE FOURSOME


	59. Sneak preview to the sequel

Prologue

Tristan moved behind his desk, pulling up the end of his robe that was brushing the floor before taking a seat. His hands sifted through the rolls of parchment uninterestedly and nothing was able to get him into the mood.

He was glad to see Prontera bustling once more since the reconstructions. While he did, the foursome that had caused widespread holocaust still haunted him, sometimes even appearing in his nightmares. Well, that was rather long ago, but he had had nightmares nonetheless. Now it was a harmless looking crystal orb, a glittering, white orb that looked unlikely to bring anything unpleasant. Yet it did.

The interior of the orb had viewings. Viewings of a great many events, which none had made Tristan very happy. First he saw his very own city, Prontera, and the people going on about their lives just like the everyday scene, but that was where the innocence ended. The orb would darken into a deep purple as the viewings led him to a trail of blood leading him east, and then southwards to a sickening pool of human blood with distorted beings standing over it. Whatever he saw, he was not sure of what creatures they were. But none of his thoughts were comforting.

His servants had seen his paleness almost every morning, and even called for acolytes to tend to him. Before he could even utter his first word of refusal, the servants were already on the run to the church. When the acolytes came, usually in pairs, his repeated assurances fell deaf, and they forced checks on him, prescribing doses of red potions and yellow herbs.

Just as he expected, it was not the least useful. The nightmares returned every night, but none of the part he could decipher. Perhaps time will tell.

A peremptory knock on the door snapped him out of his reverie. An average man of muscles and grease slipped in and let the door swung close. The man wore a simple white shirt with black stains of grease, and the sleeves were pushed up all the way to the shoulders.

One glance at him would appraise him a blacksmith, but he was an erstwhile one. He was recognised as the warlord of Prontera, and his efforts to drive the foursome off were not overlooked. Smith hardly wanted anything more than round of beer drinking, but King Tristan the Third had made arrangements to put him as the chief of the blacksmith department in Prontera. And he had more business to run now, both politically and economically. Not to mention his own interests, the Fiendbanes, a shadowy band of deadly fighters that used to be lead by both him and his late warlord partner, Smith.

"You could do with some manners, _warlord_," King Tristan said even before Smith could settle down. "You forgot protocol, and I'm not transparent."

Smith took no umbrage at the sarcasm. Even if he did, there was no visible hint. He ensconced himself on the cushioned, high-backed chair across the king and drank from a random bottle of ale his hands could find. "You're lucky to have acolytes tend to you while you sit back to read papers. We, on the other hand, have business all over us, and we do it in the heat."

King Tristan looked ridiculed at every action he was seeing. _This lad needs some flogging!_

"What is your point, _warlord_?"

"My point is," Smith paused to take a brief swig of the bottle, sighing away as the ale burned his throat. Oddly enough he felt good. "Forget it, King, I have more important news to bring rather than idle talk. I've heard of your dreams, King. There might be a story behind it."

Eyes widening for a brief second, the king of Prontera allowed no delay. The suspense had been kept long enough, and finally there could be some answers today. Answers he knew he would dread, and worse still, bring him nothing but a lack of ample rest. "Speak."

"I could do with being a chief of the blacksmith department. I've more men available besides the Fiendbanes, and those that I deployed had returned to bring fresh news. These rolls of parchment you've been brooding over whether or not they are reliable," Smith said as he encompassed the documents on the desk with a wave of his hand. "I've found the truth."

"Like what you spoke of your dreams to me, the bearings led me to Izlude. Surely enough my men reported unrest and civil war. The people are divided between the defenders and that damned Cranius's minions, and guess what? Most of them do be swordsmen and knights, as I had suspected."

The king knuckled his bushy white beard uneasily. Trains of thought ran through his head like a barrage of arrows, but he could not quite comprehend it all. All the regal and authority was gone, all but displaced by confusion. He looked at Smith and spoke with a dire tone. "Civil war? What could be the impetus to that damned lord's insanity? Things do look different from the way I see it."

"Different as it be, I have no clue just yet. We would have to wait," Smith replied plainly. Finally setting down the bottle of ale, he waited for the king's next sentence, but a knock on the door derailed any further discussions they had hoped to carry out.

A young, lean but tall man strode into the chamber, springing the word 'confident' into their mind. The man wore a thin blue bandanna around his forehead, and bit a romantic leaf at the corner of his mouth. Atop his head was a brown hat with curved, wide rims called a Sweet Gent. Strapped to his back was a guitar made of fine, dark oak. His type of elegance might very well pin-point him a philander.

"Who might be this lad in some weird mix and match? Is that the latest fad? Hah!" Smith mocked openly.

The king leaned forward suddenly, as if remembering something that slipped off his mind. "Oh yes, Smith, let me introduce you your new warlord partner. His name is Jamie Kohlan. And –"

"And ladies call me JK," the man intercepted with a tinge of pride. A little too obvious, it seemed.

Smith stared at the king with mouth agape, then looked at Jamie. Or rather, JK. "Did I hear wrong? Even without Larzen I could do things the same, let alone some skinny gigolo who tries to make a stupid fashion statement and mess my life."

It was Jamie's turn to stare at the warlord. "Excuse me? I am nothing of what you say that I am, but I tell you now I am a bard! A fine, if not better looking, bard. I'm not sure about you but you look as green as a Poporing because I have my ways with girls and no one bothers to make a second glance at you?" With that said the bard let out a long laugh that had him choking with tears. He still had not realised that it was a big mistake. Jamie felt a weight lifted off his back and before he could even twist his head around to look –_SMASH!_

A splintered guitar sat atop the bard's head, bits and pieces of wood snowing onto the floor. After what seemed like one long hour, the chair toppled backwards with Jamie crashing onto the exquisitely matted floor, eyes closed.

King Tristan stood behind his desk with the same look that Smith had a while ago. Things had certainly gone awry; first the nightmares, now a failed intended partnership. Smith ignored his "partner" and faced the king. He was none too happy. "What are you thinking? That he could very well become the second Smith? He's six feet under, king, and it had not been very long since."

Absent-mindedly snatching the bottle of ale he had been drinking, he turned to leave, a boot stepping the bard on the chest as he did.


End file.
